


Whitechapel Monster: The True Story of Jack the Ripper

by Andromytta, nealinor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Gore, Canabalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossdressing, Detective Castiel, Detective Charlie Bradbury, Dismemberment, F/F, F/M, Hunter Dean, Investigations, Journalist Sam, Letters, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Rimming, Rivals to Lovers, Scotland Yard, Serial Murder, There is a lot of death people, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 08:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 59,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12250767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andromytta/pseuds/Andromytta, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nealinor/pseuds/nealinor
Summary: 1888. A madman is murdering prostitutes in the poor neighborhood of Whitechapel in London. Scotland Yard has assigned the case to their finest detective team: Castiel Novak and Charles Bradbury. The two launch into the investigation which is interrupted by one Dean Winchester, who seems to turn up each time a murder occurs. Is this man the Ripper or does he know something that the Detectives don’t?Dean Winchester is following in his father’s footsteps and has become a hunter of monsters. He is drawn to London following the trail of unnatural murders. While the detectives look for a man, the hunter is looking for something far more supernatural.  Assisted by his brother Sam, he tries to investigate the crimes himself; however, the lead Detective, Novak, is dead set on keeping him away.Will the two men find a middle ground to face an enemy that has more than murder on his mind?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I would like to thank our fantastic artist, Deancebra for her amazing art! She worked really hard on this and I love it! Also, I can't believe we are finally posing this moster! All puns aside, this fic was very hard to write. I can't tell if it was because of the subject matter or the fact that we weren't posing as we went but still, it seems like it took forever to write! That said, it was also a hoot to murder so many people with my partner in crime. I hope you enjoy this. It's not our typical fair (if you've ever read us before) but I still think it's good!
> 
> P.S. We are serious about the warnings of blood/gore/death. Take care!
> 
> ~Neal
> 
> Hello DCBB Readers! Andy here! As you know, there is much speculation surrounding Jack the Ripper. He is a mystery that continues to captivate us to this day. Why can’t this be yet another theory? I like to think that our resident serial killer fetishist, Sam Winchester, may find this theory captivating. More than that, I hope you, our readers, enjoy our fictional take on one of the greatest serial killers that ever was. Also, keep in mind this IS about Jack the Ripper, so the blood and gore is no joke. If that’s a trigger for you, turn back now. We won’t be offended.
> 
> [Link to art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12193629)

[](https://ibb.co/kgUfOk)

**Prologue**

**August 31, 1888, 3:30 AM**

He watched her from the dark. She was nobody. Certainly not worth the time of day or the effort it was going to take to kill her. Despite this, he was going to kill her. There was no question there, he had to do it. He had accepted this course of action as necessary and if he was honest about it, he was actually looking forward to it.

Whitechapel was the perfect place for what he planned. There were plenty of whores about and no one truly paid attention to them; they were the perfect medium to use to perfect his technique. Who would miss them? He watched as she went into a building; a lodging house of some kind. She was tossed out by the proprietor a short while later. He began to follow her again. She stopped now and then, hoping to ply her wares but found no takers. That made him smile. Poor thing, all alone in the night with no one to help her. No one to hear her scream.

Of course, he didn’t let her scream. The knife silenced her throat before she made even the smallest peep. She never heard him behind her. She fell to the ground and he watched her bleed, and then set to work. He whistled to himself as he performed the requisite carving. In the end, he didn’t like it. It was all wrong and he carved that bit out, leaving a ragged hole. He dropped the good for nothing corpse in the street where someone would find it and take it away. He’d have to think about this, study some more, and try again. London was never for lack of whores.


	2. Chapter 2

**August 31, 1888, 4:30 am**

Detective Castiel Novak of Scotland Yard stood under the flickering light of a gas lamp just outside of Buck’s Row in Whitechapel. He checked the time on his pocket watch, a much battered family heirloom that was beginning to show its age, when he heard footsteps behind him. He snapped the cover closed and dropped it into the front pocket of his drab blue waistcoat and turned to the new comer. The area was blocked by a couple of Bobbies that were shifting uncomfortably in the dark of early morning. Castiel’s cold blue eyes landed on the familiar form drawing up next to him and warmed subtly as the person yawned suddenly.

“Good morning, Charles.” He spoke softly even though there was no way that anyone in this neighborhood was getting any sleep with the row and cry that had been raised. Across the street, a small crowd of ne’er do wells had gathered to observe the goings on; he imagined that they had been pushed back there by the bobbies.

“‘Morning, Castiel.” Charles, better known as Charlie, murmured around another yawn, then turned dancing green eyes upon him from underneath the brim of ‘his’ ever present brown bowler hat. Charlie was a person of unmatched intelligence and creativity, so when they’d had an unfortunate incident last year that resulted in Castiel learning that his talented partner was also a woman, he’d staunchly ignored the fact and bent his mind to protecting her secret. There was no one he’d rather have at his side. “So, what in the seven hells is so awful that we are being pulled out of our beds at this ungodly hour?” She asked, craning her neck to peer down the alleyway.

“A murder.” Castiel said as he started towards the mouth of the row.

Charlie’s eyes rolled. “I know it’s a murder, Novak. This isn’t standard procedure and you know it. It’s not like they’re getting any deader.”

He sent Charlie a quelling look as he stopped before the bobby but said no more on the topic. She was right. A murder didn’t necessitate a boy pounding on his door at 4:00 am demanding he come to Whitechapel immediately.

The bobby greeted him with a sad smile. “You’re to go right in, Detective Novak. The… uh… victim’s name is Rebecca Rosen. She went by Becky. They say she was…“ His voice fell to a whisper. “…a lady of the night.”

Castiel nodded, acknowledging the man distractedly. Just before he started down the alley, he noted a tall, lanky man coming their way. It was a silhouette he knew well, as it belonged to one of the most tenacious men of the press he’d ever met. He turned to the bobby. “Mr. Fitzgerald, please inform Mr. Winchester that he may wait with the others over there.” He nodded towards the group of gathered gawkers. With that taken care of, he tucked down the Row with Charlie in tow. He hadn’t wanted to deal with Sam Winchester’s questions this morning. The man was too smart for his own good and his sensational articles could ruin a good investigation, in Castiel’s opinion. Best to keep him away from this one as long as possible.

They made their way towards the spot where another pair of bobbies were standing next to a dark shroud that covered a lumpy object that was surely their body. Both men were pale and pointedly looking away from the body and ignoring the fact that the pool of blood beneath it had seeped out from underneath the fabric.

“You are dismissed gentlemen, keep the alley clear until the coroner brings the wagon around.” The men scurried away in relief the moment Castiel spoke to them.

Charlie watched them go with a frown. “This must be bad.”

“I would assume so.” Castiel squatted next to the form, careful to keep his shoes out of the blood, though he noted that some idiot had not paid such close attention; there were bloody footprints tracking in and around the body. It would be impossible to tell who they belonged to. He gave a weighty sigh.

Charlie, clearly reading his frustration, patted his shoulder. “I know. There’s a reason we’re the detectives.” She shook her head. “Morons.”

Castiel met her eyes for a moment and they shared a thin lipped smile before he turned back to the body and with little ceremony flipped back the shroud. There was a sharp intake of breath from Charlie over his shoulder. He understood completely. He’d not been expecting this. Before him, the woman lay with her throat slashed twice. It wasn’t clear where she’d bled out, based on the size of the blood pool that was beneath her on the cobblestones alone. He suspected she might have been killed elsewhere and left beneath the sky to be found. Blood soaked into her matted hair and her rough clothing. The victim’s empty eyes stared up sightlessly at the stars. Something niggled at the back of his mind and he pulled the blanket all the way off of her body.

“My god.” He breathed. Behind him Charlie grunted in surprise. When he looked up, she had a white handkerchief over her nose and mouth. Her eyes rolled to him, wide with shock. He expected his own expression was similar.

The woman’s abdomen had been savaged. There was a jagged wound that cut through clothing and left a gaping hole. Several other slashes could be seen in her clothing but the extent of the damage wouldn’t be clear without a proper examination by the coroner. Behind him, he heard Charlie walking in slow steps; she’d left the body to him and was busy sweeping the street around the body for clues, despite the fact that there had clearly been people gathered about before the bobbies had driven them off. Castiel tilted his head as he examined the poor woman, already supposing that her last moments had been sheer terror. Where had she been killed? Had anyone heard her scream? He glanced down the alleyway towards the gathered crowd. He should have asked Garth to make sure they didn’t leave. They’d have to be questioned to see if they knew anything.

He stood up and walked around her to see if there was anything noteworthy about the body. It was clear of anything unusual besides its very presence, much to Castiel’s chagrin. “Anything, Charlie?”

“Nope.” She said, glancing over to him. “If we could find where she was killed, perhaps there’d be something there.” So, much like him, she’d surmised their victim had been moved. He wasn’t surprised.

At the mouth of the Row, he heard the telltale clopping of hooves on the cobblestones. The coroner had arrived. “Would you talk to the people gathered over there?” He nodded towards the onlookers.

“Sure thing, boss.” She said, giving him a wink and a salute. “We all know your people skills could use some work.”

Castiel felt his cheeks heat, though she wasn’t wrong. “Thank you.” He conceded before she turned and left the alley, the sound of her boot heels on the stones were strangely loud in the quiet row. He continued to circle the body, looking for something – anything to indicate where she’d come from.

Behind him, the coroner’s wagon came to a halt and he heard the sound of the man slipping down next to him. A hand clapped him on the back suddenly, making him jump. “Good morning, Cassie!”

Castiel sent a glare to Balthazar, the coroner, but said nothing.

The man went on unheeding. “Good god it’s early. Why can’t these people have the decency to get murdered during daylight hours?” He glanced at Castiel to gauge his reaction before sighing. “You have no sense of humor.”

“Someone has been savaged, Balthazar.”

“I see that.” Balthazar took a long look at the woman before he turned towards the wagon to pull out a new shroud for the body. “Well, let’s get her up so the street sweeps can take care of this mess.”

With a sigh, Castiel helped Balthazar wrestle the corpse into the wagon. She wasn’t big nor was she heavy really, just awkward and bloody. Once she was settled in the back, Balthazar gave him a nod. “I expect I’ll see you later today.”

“I believe so.” Castiel wasn’t going to give the man a break, even if they were friends.

“You are no fun.” Balthazar shook his head as he swept up into the wagon seat. “See you later, Cassie.”

Castiel watched as the man flicked the reins and guided the wagon out of the row. He followed behind, pausing only to send the bobbies off to other duties. There was little more they could do here.

He could see Charlie was now being swarmed by people who all clamored to tell her their version of the events. Sam Winchester wasn’t among them. Just when he was about to breathe a sigh of relief, a large form loomed just behind his right elbow.

“Good morning, Detective.” Sam Winchester’s voice was polite as always, though the man’s hazel eyes darted around quickly as he tried to take in what was left of the scene. “So, there was a murder this morning?”

“Indeed, Sir.” Castiel answered stiffly, wanting nothing more than for Sam to go away so he could bend his brain to the case.

“I understand it was one Rebecca Rosen, employed as a prostitute.” Sam had a small pad of paper and a pencil that he was using to scribble notes while observing the scene.

“The victim’s identity has not been confirmed by the next of kin. That is merely supposition.” He answered curtly.

“Any idea of when identity will be confirmed?” Sam persisted.

“No.” Castiel’s answer was short and curt, but he didn’t care.

Sam seemed unphased and merely smiled at him. “How did the victim die? The crowd is saying it was a stabbing.”

Castiel stared hard at Sam. He didn’t want to give up much information but rumors were going to fly regardless. “That’s true.”

Sam’s surprise showed on his face; he wasn’t used to getting even this much from Castiel. It seems that this information had brought him up short and the man fumbled for a question. “Around what time was the victim killed?”

“The coroner has yet to inform me.” He replied, searching Sam now because for once, he felt as if he might be getting the upper hand.

Sam opened his mouth to ask another question, then his eyes fixed on something behind Castiel. “Dean?!”

“Hey Sammy.”

Castiel turned to see another tall man approaching the alley. He glared at the new comer, who was both handsome and fit, with bright green eyes. For a moment, Castiel considered stepping in front of the alley way and sending both men off; however, Turner wouldn’t like that and he relished getting yelled at by the head of the force less than he wanted to face Sam’s questions.

“What the hell are you doing in London?” Sam asked the man, Dean, seeming to have forgotten Castiel.

“Can’t a man visit his brother?” The man asked, nodding to Castiel but not addressing him directly.

Sam scowled, looking suspiciously at his brother, which intrigued Castiel. Sam seemed to think his brother was up to something. Did it have something to do with the murder?

Sam came to himself and turned to Castiel. “Ah… allow me to introduce my brother, Dean Winchester.” He turned to Dean. “Dean, this is Detective Novak of Scotland Yard.”

“Good morning, Detective.” Dean drawled in a way that made Castiel suspicious that he was being made fun of, though he couldn’t figure out why that would be. They’d never met before.

“Good morning, Mr. Winchester.” He inclined his head politely and kept his expression carefully neutral. Charlie sidled up to him in that moment to tug his sleeve which was her way of saying she had something to tell him. He looked to both men. “I fear I must bid you farewell for now. Good day.” He turned on his heel to walk down the street away from them with Charlie on his heels.

“I’ll be seeing you later.” Sam called after him.

Castiel couldn’t stop the wince.

Charlie chuckled. “He’s nothing if not persistent.” She shook her head. “So, here’s what I got. It seems Miss Rosen was last seen at the corner of Osborn Street and Whitechapel Road around 2:30 am.”

“That’s as good a place as any to start.” They walked away from the murder scene; Sam and Dean Winchester were already forgotten.

***

Sam turned to Dean the moment the detectives were out of sight. “Please tell me this isn’t your sort of weird.”

Dean grinned at him and turned down the alley where the body had laid. He grunted in frustration as there was nothing more than a pool of congealed blood. “’Fraid so, Sammy. I’ve been tracking rumors of this thing; though honestly, it’s never done something so out in the open.”

“What the hell is it, Dean?” Sam asked, frustration rising. He was out of the life. He _wanted_ to be out of the life.

“Don’t know.” Dean said honestly as he squatted next to the pool, much like Castiel had done earlier. He saw nothing there either. “I know it isn’t normal but as to what it is…. I thought that I’d come and talk to Bobby and Rufus, see what they know.” Both men lived in London, and both held jobs at Scotland Yard. It was a convenient cover to kill things that went bump in the night.

Sam’s shoulders fell. “Damn.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry, Sam. I know you don’t want this life. I’ll keep you out of it.”

“This is the most sensational murder London has ever seen. My editor demanded I come here. I’m already in it.” Sam answered with some frustration, his eyes darting around the alley. “I’ll help you research it, but I’m not hunting it.”

Dean nodded, then glanced down the row thoughtfully. “What about your friend back there? Will he get in the way?”

Sam looked blank for a moment before he realized Dean meant Detective Novak. “Novak’s the best of the best. He and his partner, Bradbury, have solved more murders than anyone on the force. He’s brilliant but cold. I was glad he was on the case, if anyone could solve it, he could. Also, he’s not so rude when questioned, just a little curt. He’s never thrown me out or threatened to punch me.” Sam said with a shrug.

“Great, a real gentleman.” Dean said dryly. “Is he going to be a problem?”

“Oh yes.” Sam said, fixing Dean with a serious stare. “Both he and Bradbury will be a problem Dean. They are the best.”

“Damnation.” Dean said with a frown. “It’s harder to hunt something when you also have to worry about keeping fools from being killed.”

Sam gave his brother an apologetic shrug. “If it helps, I’ve been around long enough to know that neither Novak nor Bradbury are fools.”

“Nope, that doesn’t help at all.” Dean said and turned back to the scene. This was the last thing he needed, but honestly, he had little choice but to play the hand he’d been dealt.


	3. Chapter 3

**August 31, 1888, 11:00 AM – 5:00 PM**

Castiel and Charlie stood on the edges of a sizable pool of blood that was slowly but surely soaking into the ground. They were standing in a stable yard not far from the corner of Osborn Street and Whitechapel Road, where the victim had last been seen. It had taken them some time to retrace her steps as she tried to find shelter for the night but finally, they’d stumbled on the place where she had met her untimely end. The ground was scuffed near the pool where the body had bled out. Castiel assumed that these were from the killer. He suspected that he’d caught her from behind, unawares. The woman likely had very little chance of survival.

Charlie walked around the stained ground and crouched next to the scuffs, examining them closely. “Looks like one person. What do you think?” She looked up at him, green eyes meeting his from under the rim of her brown bowler hat.

“I concur.” He said, searching the rest of the ground in a circular pattern that spiraled out from the marked ground. He kept his eyes low as he watched the ground. It was a time consuming and painstaking process but it was thorough. This was why he and Charlie were known as London’s best detectives. While he was walking the grounds, Charlie was picking through the dirt where the blood had pooled on the ground, also looking for clues.

A couple of hours later, they knew no more than they had when they’d found the secluded stable yard. The barn was crumbling from disuse and would have made an excellent hiding place for their killer, and yet, he or she had left nothing of themselves behind. Castiel had searched it from top to bottom and had found nothing more than a single tuft of wool snagged on a nail near the door. He’d taken it, of course, but was unsure how it would be helpful.

When he stepped from the doorway, Charlie was standing at the fence of the yard. “Did you find anything?” Castiel shook his head and crossed to her to show her the wool. She examined it with pursed lips before shrugging her shoulders. “Maybe it’ll help. You never know.”

“How did you fare?” He asked after tucking the wool, sealed in a paper envelope, into his waistcoat pocket.

She held out her own envelope. “A couple of hairs that I’m guessing belonged to the victim. I can get a couple from Balthazar and compare them under a magnifying glass.”

He nodded and gave a worn sigh. “We should return to the Yard.”

Charlie tucked her envelope into the inner pocket of her jacket and fell into step next to him. “Do you think the boss is going to yell at us for our lack of progress?”

“Of course, Bradbury, of course.”

***

“So what you are saying to me is that you’ve got nothing.” Rufus Turner sat behind his desk, glaring at the pair of them with his hands folded on the wood before him. His dark skin held a fine sheen of sweat as it was the end of August and there was no breeze to stir the air in the stuffy offices of Scotland Yard. Turner was an excellent bobby in his day and an even better detective and had been made the head of the force last year despite being a black moor. While the man was one of the best, he wasn’t known for his patience.

“We found the original scene of the crime.” Castiel pointed out, resisting the urge to toy nervously at his watch chain when the chief’s dark eyes turned on him.

Turner grunted, which was better than his typical derision. “I’ll give you that. Most wouldn’t have noted she’d been moved.”

Charlie licked her lips before speaking, her voice low as it always was when she spoke to anyone who wasn’t Castiel. “We found a couple other bits there. They may be nothing, but we can look them over. I think we can canvas the neighborhood as well but that should be done after dark. The people who were out and about when the murder occurred won’t be out during the day.”

Turner nodded and turned to Castiel next. “Novak?”

“I shall go speak to Balthazar and see if he’s conducted the autopsy yet. Perhaps he will have turned up more clues on the victim.” It was a solid plan. He hoped Turner would be done with them soon; they were wasting time standing here being berated.

“Fine. Go. I want results. You’ll be here, tomorrow morning to report.” The man sighed. “This was all over the London Times this morning. It won’t be long before Parliament and the Queen take notice. That’s the sort of trouble we don’t want down here.”

“Yes sir.” Castiel nodded as Charlie parroted the words behind him.

They left the office and paused outside, exchanging a look. This one wasn’t going to be easy and it seemed the stakes were made higher with the intrusion of the press.

“I’ll let you know if Balthazar found anything and will meet you near Whitechapel this evening.” Castiel ran a hand through his already wild hair before giving his partner a glance.

Charlie gave a sharp nod. “You don’t have to come to Whitechapel tonight. I can handle it.”

“I know that quite well.” Castiel simply didn’t like the thought of her out in that neighborhood alone. The killer might be out there hunting a new victim and might find a lone Detective a tempting target to keep himself safe. “It’s unfair for you to be out all night alone. I’ll be on my best behavior.” He smiled, his lips turning up at the corners. They both knew he was awful at questioning.

Charlie shook her head wryly. “Very well. If nothing else, you can sit in the public houses and listen to what the talk is. People may say something there that they wouldn’t to one of us.”

“Rough dress it is.” He deadpanned. They both had sets of clothing that allowed them to pass as common folk in this part of town. Tonight they’d be incognito.

Charlie chuckled then tipped her hat to him before heading towards their shared office. “I’ll see you later, Novak. Don’t forget to bring me those hairs.”

“Of course, Bradbury.” He gave a half bow before he turned on his heel and went to the doors to see the coroner.

***

Dean lay on the couch of his brother’s apartment lodgings, staring at the ceiling. He’d slept some of the morning away while Sam had been out writing his story and putting it to press but now he was bored. He wanted to go ask questions around Whitechapel regarding the murder, however, he’d noted right away that his usual costume and tactic of mimicking a police officer was not going to help him here. The neighborhood was a slum of the worst kind and the people there clearly distrustful of police. Likely the majority of them were involved in some sort of criminal activity. It was just the sort of place that would have crazy people. Monsters Dean could do, crazy people not so much.

The Detective from the police and his partner were sure to be scouring the area still and he didn’t want to be caught by them a second time. The last thing he truly wanted was to draw suspicion on himself. He wanted to get in, find the thing, and then get out again. He’d thought it had been a werewolf at first, but then when he’d finally gotten to see one of the victims; it was to discover that the hearts had been left intact within the chest of the victim. Besides, werewolves rarely slit the throats of their victims. He’d made a couple of other guesses before finally deciding that it must be a witch. Not exactly a monster in the pure sense but Supernatural enough that it was within his purview. He still wasn’t sure, however. He’d found none of the usual witchy things left behind at the crime scenes. This is why he’d told Sam that he didn’t know. His brother was far better at research than he was; hopefully he would take pity and help steer Dean on the right track. He hated London; the sooner he could get out of the city, the better.

He got up from the couch and headed into the kitchen of his brother’s lodgings and poked around in the pantry until he had found that there was little he could make for dinner. He dug into his pocket and counted out the pounds he had on his person and then headed out to buy ingredients then returned to put together dinner. It wasn’t fancy fare but it would be filling for the both of them and better, it might serve to soften Sam up on the topic of researching the case with him.

Sam came home close to six o’clock and looked exhausted, so he was pleased that Dean had made himself useful.

“Thanks, Dean.” Sam said as he sat at his small table. The place wasn’t exactly fancy and neither were the furnishings, but it was honest. Dean found that strange. They had spent most of their lives moving around so Dean had no true idea about domesticity and permanence.

“No problem, Sammy.” He sat across from his brother and helped himself to the food. “Hard day at work?”

“All anyone wanted to talk about was the murder last night.” Sam sighed and started to push the peas around on his plate. “My editor thought I could have found out more about the case. He was mollified by my article but wants me to go out and question the locals some more.”

“That’s not fair. You were up early.” Dean pointed out because he didn’t like to see his brother mistreated.

“That’s the job, Dean.” Sam seemed resigned to this, and honestly, it played to Dean’s favor.

“How about we work on it together. You get your info for the story, I get some clues as to what this thing is.” Dean tried to be nonchalant about it.

Sam fixed him with a knowing stare then his shoulders slumped forward. “Fine. I’ll help you work the case. The sooner we solve this, the sooner I get to go back to my very normal, very boring life.”

“Sure, Sammy.” Dean knew his brother hated the life they’d been raised in and he was trying to respect that. It still hurt that his little brother wanted nothing to do with him. “As soon as it’s solved, I’m gone.”

“Dean, that’s not what I want at all.” Sam said, putting down the fork. “I’m happy you are here. I am. If you wanted to give it up, I’ll be happy for you to stay and find something you can do. We could be a normal family.” Sam’s expression was pleading.

Dean tried to hold back his snort, but was unsuccessful. “That’s for you, Sammy. I’ve been in it for too long. There’s no normal life for me.”

“You would be a great policeman… like Novak.” Sam looked sad and his argument was half-hearted, as if he knew that Dean wouldn’t listen but had to make the effort anyway.

Dean appreciated it, but couldn’t show it, not really. He just shook his head. “How about we just work together on this one, okay? Then we can worry about it.”

“Alright, Dean.” Sam let it drop and they spent the rest of the meal planning what they would do that evening in Whitechapel.

***

**August 31, 1888, 9:00 PM**

Charlie stood once again at the corner of Osborn Street and Whitechapel Road, watching the usual traffic that likely occurred in this part of the city. Already she could see the typical prostitutes and pickpockets as well as the more normal poor people that lived in this crime ridden neighborhood because they didn’t have enough money to go someplace better. The clothes here were dirty and their faces grubby and lacking hope. It always depressed Charlie when she had to be down here, but that was often since this part of the city saw a great deal of crime. Tonight she was clad in a threadbare woolen jacket and trousers, with a rough linen shirt beneath and a cap pulled down low on her face. She passed for one of the people here easily enough though it had been some work to collect the appropriate amount of grime. She noticed the way the women on the street moved in groups and walked hurriedly with their heads down; there was a great amount of fear among the people tonight.

“’Evening, Bradbury.” Novak’s deep voice would have startled her if she hadn’t seen the shadow he cast in the lamplight moments before he spoke.

She turned and smiled, stroking the fake sideburns that she customarily wore. She’d forgone the mustache just in case people remembered it from earlier because a redhead stuck out in people’s minds already. “’Evening, Novak.” She looked him over and was pleased with what she saw. His shirt was smudged with soot and his jacket and trousers were a rough grey; the hem of the jacket was fraying nicely. He also wore a cap that was close in appearance to hers however his was dark blue whereas hers was green. He hadn’t shaved and as a result had a goodly amount of shadow on his cheeks and chin. “You look positively ravishing this evening.” She waggled her eyebrows at him.

Castiel’s brow crinkled and his head tilted to the side before he realized she was joking and chuckled at her before his blue eyes swept the streets. “They are all on edge tonight.”

“Yeah, hopefully they will want to talk in order to blow off steam.” Charlie agreed as she watched another group of ladies scurry into one of the public houses. “So, there are two pubs of interest for you to check out. The Frying Pan was where our victim was seen drinking shortly before her murder. There is some talk that the proprietor of The White Hart was involved so you might want to go there too.”

Novak nodded; technically he was her boss but he’d never treated her any less than his equal. It was why he was her favorite person at the Yard and possibly her best friend. “I’ll go to The Frying Pan first, if that’s where she had her last drink, the patrons might be talking. I’ll check in with you before I go to The White Hart.”

Charlie nodded her agreement and watched him cross the cobblestone street and disappear into the grimy pub across the way. Once he was out of sight, she started making the rounds of the neighborhood. She started with a girl who was well known to her because she was also an informant as long as Charlie had a couple of shillings on her. She searched around the streets where Ruby liked to frequent to ply her wares, so to speak. She found the dark haired woman hovering near The White Hart pub; it was owned by one Fergus MacLeod, a Scot who went by the name of Crowley and was rumored to be in control of a goodly amount of crime in the area. Ruby was one of his whores and Charlie suspected that their victim, Becky, had been one too.

Ruby gave her a crooked smile and looked her up and down with her whiskey eyes, just as she always did. “Good e’ening, Charles. Care for a ride tonight?” She tugged her grimy skirt up to show a goodly portion of her boot and her ankle. She must have hit on hard times if she was propositioning Charlie, she’d never done so before.

“No, but thank you Ruby.” She tipped her cap to the woman, who snorted at her.

“You and yer fancy talk.” She laughed before tossing down her skirt. “What’re you lookin’ for?”

“A few words. I’ll pay for it.” She reached into a pocket and tugged out a couple of shillings. This was more than enough to keep her off the street for a night or two and Charlie expected that she would like that after Becky’s murder.

Ruby looked at the shillings with glittering eyes. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Becky.”

Ruby flinched, but her eyes roamed back to the shillings. “Money first.”

The money disappeared back into Charlie’s pocket. “Nope. Talk first. You know I’m good for it.”

Ruby’s shoulders sagged. “Ain’t much to talk about, Charles.” She drawled the name mockingly. “I saw Bec yesterday afore we went out to the street. She was short of blunt and needed to make a few pence to find a place for the night. Damn fool had herself some money then drank it down at The Frying Pan. Last I seen her she was playing to a bloke down near Whitechapel Street.”

“What did he look like?” Charlie prompted, because this was better than nothing.

“Tall gent, didn’t wear a hat and his hair was fair. That’s all I seen.” Her eyes flicked to the pocket again and Charlie tugged out the coins and dropped them into Ruby’s filthy hand. It was too much for what she’d been told, however, she needed the woman alive for further information at a later time.

“Thanks, Ruby.” Charlie said as Ruby turned on her heel and marched back into The White Hart, presumably to give Crowley his cut and to stay off the streets.

Charlie left The White Hart and headed down the street. She blended with the evening crowds and paused as she heard talk about the murder of the previous evening, and there was a lot of it. She heard a great number of wild tales, about Becky being attacked by a giant beast, or by a dozen men bent on murder and rape, or how Crowley himself had slit her throat for having failed to give him his due. The one about Crowley had the most merit, however, the man never did his own dirty work. She turned a corner that led her relatively near The Frying Pan where Castiel was, when she saw a very familiar tall form walking and talking to another prostitute just a little bit down the way. She sighed and cut through the crowds to their side.

Sam Winchester was easy to pick out because he was so very tall; he was accompanied by a man who was also tall but not quite as tall as Sam was and was just as attractive if not more so (if one was into that sort of thing). That must be the brother that Novak told her about earlier.

Charlie came directly behind Sam and poked him from behind in the middle of his forearm (which was easily within her reach), and waited for him to turn around.

To his credit, Sam had the good grace to look embarrassed about being caught, which was more than could be said for his brother. “Ah… De… Bradbury, good to see you.” He’d helpfully not blown her cover, which made her more disposed to react favorably towards them.

“Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Winchester.” She raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking to the other man at his side. “I see you’ve got a new partner.” She turned to the man she didn’t know. “Training to be a newspaper man?”

“Ah… sure.” The man responded, then Sam nudged his shoulder and he fell silent.

“This is my brother, Dean. He’s in town and came with me on this assignment.” Sam said, shooting a look to his brother. He looked at her a little more closely. “You shaved your mustache.”

Charlie cleared her throat and gave him a cold stare because really, that was quite rude. She tried another tactic. “You know, I could accuse you of interfering with police business.”

Sam gave her a shrewd, considering look. “I’m working on an assignment for my editor. He’d pay to get me out of jail, of course.”

“Of course. Tomorrow morning.” She pointed out, because the jails at Scotland Yard were not particularly nice.

Sam winced, but they’d done this song and dance before. “What do you want?”

“You tell me what you’ve got and I let you continue without telling Novak.” This was a great boon to them. Novak would put them in jail, which was actually a little bit nicer than some of the other detectives, who would become physically violent.

Sam sighed. “Fine, but it’s not much. Everyone claims to have seen Miss Rosen last night, but she can’t have been all the places they say she’s been. It’s impossible. Several report seeing her with a tall, fair haired man on the corner where she was last seen.”

Charlie rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I’ve heard that too.”

“There’s also the requisite rumors that Crowley did it.” Sam added a moment later, clearly trying to be helpful to keep himself out of jail for the night.

“Who’s Crowley?” The brother, Dean, asked. It was the first he’d said anything about the case.

“A local thug.” Sam said, shaking his head.

“More like the king of thugs around here.” Charlie shook her head. “It’s unlikely Crowley’s involved. Becky worked for him. Violent and despicable he may be, but he wouldn’t kill one of his own.”

“If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know…” Sam began, giving Charlie a little half bow. “…In the spirit of cooperation.”

Charlie knew how this worked and nodded. “I’ll give you what I can release. You know how it is.” If she leaked sensitive information, she’d be fired.

“That’s enough for me.” Winchester replied before tipping his grubby cap and turning off to continue his search.

Charlie knew that Novak wouldn’t like it, but she’d done this before. Being nice to the press had its perks and Sam Winchester was one of the most honest newspaper men she knew. Right now they couldn’t dicker about police procedure. They needed to catch a killer.

***

Dean was getting restless, but more than that, he was also getting bored. Roughly half an hour after they had talked to Detective Bradbury, he looked to Sam and stopped walking. “Look, Sammy, we can cover twice as much ground apart as we can together.”

Sam looked to Dean as if he knew what he was up to but said nothing. “Alright Dean, meet back up with me in an hour.”

Dean nodded and crossed the street, heading towards the pub that he’d heard Becky had last been in. He was thinking more and more that whatever this thing was, it was human or at least wore a human skin. He passed through the rough door of The Frying Pan and went to the bar immediately for an ale. What he was given was practically swill, but he drank it anyway and chatted up the people next to him and spent a few minutes listening to the rumors that they happily (and drunkenly) told him. There was an itch between his shoulder blades as he moved down the bar and chatted up a different pair of men, one of whom had purchased Becky’s services a time or two and was happy to tell him about things that were generally useless. After all, what use is there in knowing how perky a dead woman’s tits were?

When he moved on, he felt the itch again and was sure he was being watched. He ordered another ale from the bar and turned around. Sure enough, there was a dark haired fellow in the corner glaring at him with hot, blue eyes. It took him a moment before he recognized him as the detective Sam had introduced him to earlier that day. So, the fellow thought Dean was an interloper. That was just fine with him, however, he was going to show this man, Novak, that he wouldn’t be cowed by him. He had no fear of police. Taking the glass of ale, he swaggered over to the table where Novak sat and pulled out the opposite chair.

“’Evening.” He said as he plopped down his mug in front of the fellow. “Good night for a pint, eh?” Dean knew the man couldn’t pull the whole cop thing with him here, not if he wanted the people around him to continue talking. He was pleased to see a muscle working in the man’s clenched jaw.

“Good evening.” Novak replied, his voice a low rumble with a decidedly cool tone. That was too bad, because otherwise, the guy had an attractive voice. In all actuality, he was quite attractive and the color of his eyes made Dean want to stare. It was a shame that the man saw him as a threat to his case and Dean felt the same; the man had no clue what he was dealing with here.

“Fancy meeting you here.” He replied, smiling at the man as if they were acquainted and perhaps friends. It was a strong armed move but it set a precedence that Novak had to follow.

The man smiled back at him, though it was little more than a baring of teeth. “Yes, indeed. What a coincidence.”

Dean almost laughed at the words because man, was the man pissed, perhaps more so because he couldn’t express how pissed he was. “So, friend, enjoying the evening out? Listening to the gossip?” He leaned across the table with his eyebrows raised. “Anything good?”

Novak sent him what was supposed to be a quelling look, but the corners of his lips were twitching, whether it was to keep himself from frowning or smiling was unclear. “Well, it’s all talk about last night’s unfortunate incident.”

“Well, that’s not surprisin’, is it? Stuff like that doesn’t happen all the time around here? Does it?” Dean replied.

Novak snorted. “You’d be surprised, Sir. Of course, the event is shocking, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”

“Oh?” Dean felt as if they were engaging in a game of wits, each one trying to squeeze something out of the other without giving up an inch. He liked it, though he doubted Novak did as well. That is, until he caught the glimmer in the man’s eyes. His face might have been carved from stone however those blue eyes, they were sharp and keenly interested.

“It’s clear, Mr. Winchester, that you are not from around here.” Novak said as he brought the mug of ale to his lips and sipped it with a very well concealed wince.

Dean agreed. The ale was terrible. “It’s true. I’m new to London. Help a fellow out, won’t you?” He turned up the wattage on his charming smile, hoping he could worm a little more out of the man by winning him over.

Novak seemed immune to the smile though he returned it with a thin lipped smile of his own. “I’m not sure what help I can provide you. You can easily pick up what you need to know by talking to the people around here.”

“Ah… but surely you are an expert.” Dean pointed out, trying flattery now.

“Alas, I am a jack of many trades but master of none.” Novak replied, spreading his hands.

Dean ground his teeth in frustration. The man sat before him with his hot, half-drunk ale, and seemed determined to give him nothing. It was clear that Bradbury was the most reasonable of the pair. Shame the man was nowhere near as handsome as Novak. Dean shoved the thought away. He didn’t have time for that nonsense and imagined that Novak likely had a wife and children at home as he appeared to be a few years older than Dean himself. Very few people shared his proclivities towards enjoying the company of both men and women. “Surely you know something you’d share.”

Novak leaned forward, his blue eyes intense and his voice low. “I’m not the sort of man that shares, Mr. Winchester.”

The two of those things together sent an imperceptible shiver down his spine. His cock stirred, taking notice immediately. Dean grit his teeth again. It did him no use to acknowledge the attraction to the intensity of the man across from him because it didn’t help him with his case. He leaned in towards Novak as well until they were nose to nose with a scant space that kept them from touching. Dean’s voice was soft and also low, his green eyes glittering challenge. “It’s your loss, Novak.”

The air crackled with electricity between them and for a split second, he was sure Novak noticed and felt it too. Then the man was leaning back away from him. The spell was broken. “That remains to be seen.”

Dean had to concede that this was true. “Indeed, Sir.” He stood and dropped a couple of pence on the table, more than enough to pay for the man’s ale. “My compliments.” He left his empty mug on the table and turned, leaving the noise and heat of the pub behind him. He had no clue what he’d been playing at. He often tried to get the cooperation of the police on his cases; but Sam had told him that would be hard here. Still, he was of two minds regarding Novak. The man might have information he needed and he was clearly intelligent, those would both be helpful. Still, he only worked with police in a cursory fashion and it was never a sharing of information as he’d been proposing to the Detective.

He shook his head and set off to find Sam. His attraction to the man had obviously gone to his head. He’d have to plan carefully before he spoke with him again because he knew he was going to be seeing him again.

***

Castiel watched Dean go with a sense of unease. He’d been angry when he’d seen the man walk in, then had watched in some amazement as he easily engaged each person at the bar with his affability and had gotten twice as much information as Castiel had all night in half the time. That was a little… galling. Then the man had the audacity to come sit down with him, will-he nil-he. There was something about him, something that made him want to like this Dean Winchester, despite his knowledge that it was clearly a very bad idea.

Then there had been that moment. He’d expected to give the thinly veiled threat at the end to impress upon the other man that he wasn’t to be trifled with however, the tables had been quickly turned. He’d never felt such a strong attraction to another person in all his life. Being so close to Dean Winchester was like a flash of lightning that went straight to his groin. He’d not only seen the heat of challenge in the man’s green eyes but a soft dusting of freckles across his nose. Both were insanely attractive to him. He’d done the sane thing in the moment and created separation, anything to cut whatever connection threaded between them.

He didn’t understand why he was feeling such a thing at all now. Castiel was a confirmed bachelor. His life was uncomplicated because he liked it that way. He didn’t concern himself with relationships because he had a job that was consuming of his time and energy. He didn’t have time for an attraction of this kind; it would make him lose his objectivity. He came to one conclusion. Dean Winchester was a threat; he wanted to throw him against a wall and plunder his lips as much as he wanted to throttle the man for interfering with his case. Neither of those things gave themselves well to the cooperation the man seemed to be hinting about. No, he’d better steer clear of Winchester for the time being. It was altogether unclear what the man’s motivations were.


	4. Chapter 4

**September 29, 1888 7:00 AM**

Gabriel Arch unlocked the doors of the Central News Agency.  He made it a point to arrive at least 30 minutes before any of the reporters arrived.  He enjoyed the quiet before the hustle and bustle that accompanies London’s busiest newspaper began.  He took a deep breath, pulling in the smell of ink and sweat and hard work.  Gabriel could have done anything in world, but there was nothing he’d rather do than run this newspaper.

He made his way across the bullpen back to his office.  The door indicated that he was editor-in-chief, but he was more than that.  This was also his paper.  He owned it, and he didn’t trust anyone else to run it.  Gabriel was about to sit down at his desk and pour himself a glass of very fine French wine from the crystal decanter on his shelf when he saw it, sitting on his desk like it belonged there.  A small package with a note attached.  It was addressed to “Sam Winchester, Reporter, Central News Agency.”

Gabriel ran a hand through his golden brown hair as his whiskey eyes roved over the package.  Since it was addressed to Sam, he wouldn’t open it, although he did find it unusual that his newest reporter would be receiving fan mail already.  All the reporters Gabriel hired for the Central News Agency had two things in common:  they were both intelligent and attractive.  Gabriel didn’t care about gender or race, as long as they were smart enough to get the stories and attractive enough that people liked to talk to them.  Sam Winchester was a slightly different story.  While he did share the two traits everyone else at the newspaper did, there was a different reason altogether why he was hired, and why he was given the biggest story of the year when he was relatively inexperienced.  Gabriel was familiar with the Winchester family business, and put Sam on the story because something didn’t seem right to Gabe.

As he stared at the package on his desk, waiting for Sam to come in for his shift, his very sensitive nose picked up an unusual smell.  Maybe this wasn’t a fan letter after all.

Gabriel sat staring at the package, lost in thought, so that he didn’t even notice when the bullpen started to fill with the reporters.  It wasn’t until his assistant knocked on his door and reminded him that a few reporters had wrapped up what they’d been working on all week and needed new assignments that he realized it was time to get the day started.

“Kali and Baldur are waiting for new assignments,” Meg Masters informed him in her most businesslike manner.

“Oh yes, of course.  Send Kali to the Palace and Baldur to the airfield.  I’m sure there’s something newsworthy going on at those places.  Oh, and Meg, send Sam Winchester in here.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”  She gave him a little salute as she headed back to the bullpen to make Gabriel’s orders a reality.

***

Sam took his time making his way to Gabriel’s office.  To be honest, the man tended to make Sam a bit uncomfortable.  He always felt like his boss could see right through to his soul and just knew that Sam had a bit of a dark past.  “You wanted to see me, Boss?” Sam said when he finally poked his head into the editor’s office.

“Hey, Sam.  Come in, have a seat.  Would you like a glass of the finest of French wines?” Gabriel asked as soon as Sam was through the door.

“Um, no thanks, Gabriel.  Probably not a good idea to drink on the job,” Sam replied carefully.

“Nonsense!” Gabriel exclaimed as he poured himself a glass from the crystal decanter behind him.  Still wary about the package, he stalled getting to the real reason he called Sam into his office.  “So, how are things?  How’s the story coming along?  How’s that fiancée of yours?  Jessica, is it?  Has she reconsidered my job offer yet?”

Sam sighed as he sat heavily into the chair in front of Gabriel’s desk.  “You know how the story is going.  Jessica is fine.  And no, she doesn’t want to work here….Why did you really send for me, Gabe?”

“Cut right to chase, that’s what I like about you, Sammy.”  Gabriel sighed heavily as he slid the package across his desk.  “This came for you.  Actually, it was waiting on my desk when I got here this morning, which is weird.”

Sam looked it over.  “Fan mail?” He asked, though if it was just regular fan mail, Gabriel would have delivered it to his desk and made all sorts of fanfare about it.

“Open it and see,” Gabriel said meekly.

Picking up the note on top of the box first, Sam opened it and read:

_Dear Boss,_

_I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I cant use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha. ha. The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn't you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife's so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck. Yours truly_

_Jack the Ripper_

_Dont mind me giving the trade name_

_PS Wasnt good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands curse it. No luck yet. They say I'm a doctor now. ha ha_

Sam and Gabriel just looked at each other once Sam finished reading.  “This is him.  This is the killer.” Sam said quietly. 

The men sat in stunned silence for several minutes before Gabriel whispered, “Open the box.”

Sam opened the box gingerly.  He looked inside and exclaimed “What is that????”

Gabriel leaned over the desk and peered into the box.  “That, my young protégé, is a uterus.  Or most of one, anyway.”  He then reached over to the crystal bowl on his desk and grabbed a handful of jelly beans and shoved them into his mouth.

That move rocketed Gabriel from “uncomfortable” in Sam’s book right up to “creepy.”  What he actually said was, “That’s just…disturbing.  I suppose I should turn this in to Scotland Yard.  I have to try to get an interview with the coroner today and see if Detective Novak will talk to me anyway.”  What Sam was really planning was to take the letter and…uterus…to Dean first.

“Be sure to make a mimeograph of that letter, Sam.  We need to print that sucker,” Gabe said as Sam rose to leave his office.  Gabriel hoped Sam brought the evidence to his brother before taking it to Scotland Yard.  He was fairly sure that even their most talented detectives would be relatively useless in this case.

“Yes, right, of course.  Mimeograph,” Sam responded absently as he picked up the letter and box and left the editor’s office.

***

Sam found Dean asleep on the sofa in his apartment when he came in.  “Dean, wake up.  I have something here you need to see!”

“Sam!  Quit shouting.  This is a tiny apartment, I can hear you.”  Then he noticed the items in his brother’s hands.  “What’s that?”

“Oh, just a package from the killer!”

Dean was fully awake now.  “What????”

“My boss found this on his desk when he got to the paper this morning.  It’s a letter and apparently a uterus from the killer.” Sam explained.  “Come to think of it, Gabriel knew exactly what body part this was.  Have you considered investigating him?” Sam shifted from foot to foot. “He was stuffing his face with jelly beans while looking at this thing.”

Dean snatched the letter from Sam, but would barely look at the uterus, which seemed to make him uncomfortable.  He read the letter once or twice with a frown before shoving it back at Sam.  “You should probably take this to Scotland Yard if you are done with it.  No sense in getting in trouble with the police.” Dean sighed, mumbling something that sounded like a swear. “I will look into your creepy boss.”

Sam carefully made his way to Scotland Yard, trying very hard not to jostle the package more than it already had been.  When a bobby stopped him at the entrance, as soon as he showed him the body part, he was ushered directly to Detective Novak.

“Mr. Winchester, why are you here? There is nothing more I can tell you about this case,” Castiel informed him calmly and professionally. Detective Bradbury looked on from his seat at the second desk in the office.

Sam said nothing, just shoved the package and a letter at the detective.

“What is this?” Castiel clearly was not squeamish about organs and if he had any thoughts about it at all, they didn’t show on his face.

“My editor found this on his desk this morning, which is weird.  He also knew that this is a uterus.  Have you considered investigating Gabriel Arch?”

“Gabriel Arch has been a respected member of this city for years.  I find it highly unlikely that he would be behind these gruesome deaths.” Castiel groused.  “But I’ll take this to the coroner for further investigation.”

**October 1, 1888.  10:00am**

Meg brought Gabriel the mail when it was dropped off at the newspaper that morning.  He flipped through the normal fan mail for the more popular reporters.  He’d gather everyone together after lunch to make a big deal out of the popularity, so he set those aside when a postcard written in red ink caught his attention.

“Meg!  Send Sam Winchester in immediately.”

When Sam walked in, Gabriel handed him the postcard before he could even say a word.  As Sam read it, his hazel eyes grew wide.  The postcard said:

_I was not codding dear old Boss when I gave you the tip, you'll hear about Saucy Jacky's work tomorrow double event this time number one squealed a bit couldn't finish straight off. Had not got time to get ears off for police thanks for keeping last letter back till I got to work again._

_Jack the Ripper_

Sam followed the same procedure as before.  He made a mimeograph of the postcard for the paper, showed it to Dean, and then turned it in to Detective Novak as evidence.

Gabriel decided there was no longer any point in holding back the other letter from publication.

 

**October 15, 1888.  Noon**

The young courier timidly made his way through the bustling newspaper bullpen.  He precariously balanced the package for the reporter over his head as he tried not to bump into anyone.  He was suddenly face to, well, not quite face, with Meg Masters.

“Whoa, there, young man.  Where’s the fire?”  She asked jovially.

“N-no fire, m’lady.  I have a package for a Mr. Winchester,” the boy answered shyly.

“Right this way, kid.”  Meg led the courier to Sam’s desk.

Sam barely looked up from his typewriter.  “What do you want, Meg?”

“This young man has a package for you, Winchester.  By the way, a little politeness goes a long way, Gargantuan.” Meg sniped at him.

“Oh.  Thank you.” Sam said contritely.  Only once Meg and the courier walked away did Sam notice the familiar handwriting and red ink of Jack the Ripper.  He didn’t even open the note or the package it was attached to.  Instead, he immediately went to his editor’s office and let himself in without even knocking.

“Gabriel, I got another package from the Ripper!”

The men gathered around the package that was now sitting on the editor’s desk.  “OK, Sammy, open it.”

Sam did what he did last time, and started with the letter, reading it out loud:

_from hell._

_Mr Winchester,_

_Sor_

_I send you half the Kidne I took from one woman prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nise. I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer_

_signed_

_Catch me when you can Mishter Winchester_

Then Sam opened the package.  Gabriel took one look at it and said, “Freak wasn’t lying.  That’s a kidney.”  He once again punctuated his statement with a handful of jelly beans.


	5. Chapter 5

**November 9, 1888, 10:45 AM**

Josephine Elizabeth Harvelle’s brown eyes darted around the disheveled room until they landed on the torn body of her friend.  How she had made it to Ruby’s room in time to beat the police but not in time to save her broke her heart more than she had time to dwell on right now.  After Becky’s murder, Jo had made it her personal mission to stay with the girls and protect them.  She would have done it anyway, had Crowley not been paying her to do so.  She had been working as Crowley’s enforcer for a few years, after her stepfather Bobby Singer and “Uncle” Rufus Turner told her there was no way a “tiny little woman” could ever have a career at Scotland Yard.  Jo wouldn’t be content just running a pub with her mother, waiting to undoubtedly become a cop’s wife.  Instead, she took a job as a private investigator, but again, no one wanted to hire a “tiny little woman.”  That was until Crowley came along.  He needed someone to collect his cut from his girls, someone who could hold her own with them, but not scare them off the minute she arrived to collect.  Once Jo proved that she was quite formidable, Crowley increased both her responsibility as well as her pay grade, and she became the protector and bodyguard of the girls in Crowley’s employ. 

Of course, this latest series of events had both Crowley as well as Jo herself questioning her skills.  Not a week before Becky’s murder, Jo had managed to subdue a John who had gotten particularly rough with Toni and was refusing to pay.  In a matter of minutes she had dispatched of the man twice her size and delivered him to Crowley for reckoning.  She couldn’t fathom why this mystery murderer kept escaping her.  Unless there was more to him than meets the eye.

Holding a handkerchief over her nose and mouth, Jo moved closer to inspect the body.  “Oh Ruby, I’m so sorry.  I failed you.”

Jo was ripped from her monologue by the clearing of a throat.  She jumped in surprise and turned to see a short man with a red handlebar mustache and a bowler hat leaning against the door frame.

When Charlie arrived at the latest crime scene, she was surprised to see the young woman with the long blonde ponytail surveying the crime scene as if she were a trained police officer.  She was just as surprised to see her dressed in men’s clothing, but clearly not hiding her gender.  Charlie was briefly mesmerized by how nicely the men’s trousers hugged the blonde’s feminine curves.  When she watched the way the other woman looked at and then spoke to the corpse, she realized this must be Crowley’s infamous enforcer that so many Johns were afraid of.  Charlie had been in awe when she heard those stories.  A woman who could hold her own with men.  Charlie had admired her from afar, and now was quite content to admire her from near…until she remembered she had a job to do.  She leaned against the door jam and cleared her throat.

“Miss, this is a crime scene.  I’m afraid you can’t be here,” Charlie said in her disguised voice.

Jo stood up to her full “height” and squared her shoulders.  She wasn’t afraid of giant ne’er do wells, so she certainly wasn’t scared of a small detective.  “I can, in fact, be here,” she said forcefully.  “I work for Crowley, and these were his girls, and my friends,” she added the last part softly.  “It was my job to protect them.”  She added lamely.

“I don’t care if you’re the Queen of England, you can’t interfere in a police investigation, young lady.  If you don’t leave, I will be forced to bodily remove you,” Charlie quirked an eyebrow (a trick she learned from Castiel) in a way to let Jo know this wasn’t an idle threat.

Jo crossed her arms across her chest and stared into the detective’s (very nice) green eyes.  Assessing that the threat was very real, and knowing Crowley would not like it if she got into an altercation with a law enforcement officer, she conceded.  “Very well, but I will be following up with your investigation, Detective…”

“Bradbury.  Charles Bradbury,” Charlie introduced, extending a hand without thinking.

Jo took the detective’s hand and responded in turn.  “Jo Harvelle.”

“I suppose I’ll be seeing you around, Harvelle,” Charlie said coyly, then chided herself for flirting on the job.

Jo merely “humphed” as she left the room.

Jo was racing down the hall, her mind spinning with what she could report back to Crowley.  As such, she wasn’t paying attention to where she was going until she ran into a solid figure coming down the hall in front of her.  She looked up, prepared to kick ass until she recognized the face she was looking up into.  “Dean Winchester!” she exclaimed.  “I knew it!  If you’re here, then that means that something WEIRD is going on!  I knew there was no WAY a mere man would be able to pull these murders off without me catching them!”

Dean put a hand over her mouth to shush her.  “Jo Harvelle, would you please shut your big mouth?  There are cops around here that don’t need to know about the things that go bump in the night.”

“Fine,” Jo agreed.  “I have to go, but we WILL be talking about this later!”  She ran passed him, knowing Crowley would only be getting more and more angry the longer she kept him waiting.

When she arrived at The White Hart, Jo was greeted by Crowley’s personal enforcer, Ezekiel Gadreel.  If it was Jo’s job to protect Crowley’s girls and his money, it was Zeke’s job to protect the man himself.

“The boss said to send you right up to his office.” Jo nodded up at the tall, well-built man.  “Oh, and Jo,” he continued, “He’s in one of his moods, so watch yourself.”

“Duly noted,” Jo replied.  “Thanks, Zeke,” she tossed over her shoulder before heading up the stairs to Crowley’s office.

Jo steeled herself before knocking on the heavy wooden door to Crowley’s office.  When she did rap upon the chamber door, the response was a very gruff “Come in!”

“Mr. Crowley, my Lord,” Jo said contritely as she entered the room.  Her words may have been respectful, but she was really thinking, “Mr. Crowley, the Asshole.”  He had already berated her excessively for not protecting “his girls.”  “His girls” who he barely left with a living wage and would do unspeakable things to if they “got out of hand.”  Too bad he was the only one who would hire Jo to do anything other than work behind a desk or a bar.  He paid her rather handsomely, too, but she supposed that was due more to her connections with law enforcement and her ability to bring down his entire enterprise with one word to her stepfather than anything else.

"Three more of my girls have died, Josephine," the Scot practically spat the young blonde's name.  "What exactly am I paying you for anyway?"  He screamed and then threw the tumbler of Scotch he had been sipping in her general direction.  With her quick reflexes, Jo easily ducked out of the way.

“You’re paying me because up until recent events, nobody has taken better care of your girls than me!” Jo spat back at him.  “You know as well as I do that if I can’t catch this sack of shit, then he is no ordinary killer.”

Crowley sat back down behind his desk and looked over her carefully.  Much more calmly he asked, “What exactly are you getting at, Miss Harvelle?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet, my Lord, but I believe I have a lead on the killer.  Let’s just say there is more to him than meets the eye.” Jo explained, trying very hard to maintain a respectful tone and keep the ire out of her voice.

“Very well, Josephine.  I’ll give you another chance.  But you know what will happen if you don’t deal with whoever is destroying my merchandise, right?”

“You’ll do more than ‘just fire’ me, Sir,” Jo answered, parroting his words back to him.

“Precisely.  Now get out of my office and DO YOUR BLOODY JOB!”

***

Two months, one week, and one day since the murders had begun on the last day of August. Those months had been pure hell for anyone who was working in Scotland Yard and more so if one was the lead detective on the case. There had been four murders so far, counting the first, and they were no closer to finding who had committed them. October had been blissfully quiet; almost creepily so and now, another murder. Castiel wondered what had made their killer stop for the month of October. The silence he’d left behind had been almost deafening and the terror in Whitechapel had not abated in that time. It was at a fevered pitch now. Another girl dead. It hardly mattered that these were prostitutes and cheap ones at that; they were lives and they depended on the police at Scotland Yard to protect them. He’d failed utterly in his duty. He had been drinking deep into the night on many occasions while going over the case details and the few pictures they had of the victims and the scenes.

As he rode in his hired carriage to the latest scene, he went over them all in his head. Rebecca “Becky” Rosen – murdered on August 31, 1888, approximately 3:40 AM in Buck’s row. Throat cut twice and abdomen ripped open. Antonia “Toni” Bevell – murdered on September 8, 1888, approximately 6:00 AM in Hanbury Street. Throat cut twice and abdomen ripped open with the uterus removed. Cassandra “Casey” DeMon murdered on September 30, 1888 at approximately 1:00 AM in Berner Street. One cut to the throat, with suspicion that the murder had been interrupted. Leah Gideon murdered on September 30, 1880 at approximately 1:45 AM in Mitre Square, London City proper. Throat severed and abdomen ripped open with the uterus and left kidney removed. This killing was more brutal than the others; perhaps a sign that the killer was angered over the earlier interruption. A piece of Leah’s clothing had been discovered in Goulson Street, Whitechapel. And now a fifth victim, the killer’s violence had escalated each time so he had no clue what he would find there.

When he arrived at the scene, Castiel found he was not wrong. Ruby Doe (who had no proper last name) had been found off Dorset Street in her own rooms, in the house that Crowley kept for his girls to stay for a fee. That she had been found on her own bed spoke volumes about what the killer would do now. No one was safe at all; he’d gone from the streets to invading the most intimate of locations. Ruby’s throat had been slit straight down to her spine and her abdomen ripped open though this time almost all of the organs had been stripped from the cavity and lay near the body on the bed. Her body itself had been mutilated; her breasts removed and her face grotesquely rendering her beyond recognition. That was simply what Castiel could see from the door. Charlie stood next to the body, carefully avoiding all the blood which was quite a feat in and of itself.

“This is…” She motioned around the room, shaking a head. “…beyond anything we’ve ever seen.”

“I know.” He picked his way across the room to get nearer to the bed. Outside he could hear the milling of people already. Fitzgerald’s voice was clear as he pushed them back to make room for the official photographer from Scotland Yard. Castiel paid them no mind. He bent to examine the body from the side, having seen something that caught his eye. His suspicion proved right. “I think some of her organs are behind her head.”

“A grotesque pillow.” Charlie mused as she stepped away from the blood and began to scour the walls. “We’ve already had company.”

“Winchester?” Castiel guessed, largely because he was working on a theory.

Charlie snorted. “Not yet.” She sighed. “I don’t think it’s him.”

“I know what I saw.” Novak insisted as he remained where he was, with a notebook out so he could catalogue the size and shapes of the blood stains on the sheets beneath her. He hoped they would get a great deal more evidence from the bed than they had from the ground where the others had been found.

“There may be another solution.” Charlie pointed out as she picked at something on the wall. “If it’s him, then he’s very brazenly investigating himself.”

Castiel grunted. This was true. It didn’t all add up but he was keeping an eye on Dean anyway. Sure enough, he saw the familiar shape peek in the doorway from the corner of his eye. _Right on time._ It was a shame that he still found the man attractive, despite the fact that he suspected that he was also a brutal murderer. He cleared his throat loudly. “If Winchester wasn’t our visitor then who was?” He was pleased to see the man duck back out of the doorway.

Charlie’s eyes were on the door as she caught the movement too. “A woman with blond hair and a suit. Jo Harvelle.”

“Ah, Crowley’s enforcer. I’m familiar with her.” Castiel knew a good deal about Crowley, or at least, he did now that the man was losing his whores left and right. “Why was she here?”

“Apparently she’s been hunting the murderer as well, or so I suspect.” Charlie had tugged out whatever she’d found and was sealing it into an envelope. “She also seems to have a soft spot for the…” She indicated Ruby. “…the poor girls.”

“There’s very little room for soft spots in an investigation.” He paused, straightening up to look at her directly. “It doesn’t mean that we don’t care.”

“I understand, Novak.” She turned back to her work.

Castiel did as well. The scene took hours for them to investigate. Sometime after the first hour, the photographs were taken and Balthazar came for the body.

“Her heart is missing.” The coroner informed them after they had loaded all the pieces of the girl into the wagon. “I’ll let you know if I find it stashed somewhere else.”

It was nearing supper time when they finally finished. They took the bedding and the side table where the killer had left the skin he’d removed to get at her organs. Otherwise, the scene was a mess of blood and grotesque images with little left to go on. It was strange that the organ removed had changed from the uterus to the heart this time. Why had the killer done so? Was he truly taking them to eat them as was claimed in the last letter he sent? Even as Castiel rode away from the scene, heading back to Scotland Yard, he found himself wondering if another letter would be received. The letters themselves were odd as well. They had all been received by Sam Winchester of the Central New Agency. Mr. Winchester was known to be a newer reporter and in the scheme of things, not very highly placed in the agency. He was, of course, the one writing about the Ripper so perhaps that was the connection.

The letters, he had to admit, did seem evidence against his Dean Winchester theory. Dean, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be very close with his brother. Unless he was truly depraved, he wouldn’t send the horrible letters (one included a boxed kidney from the fourth victim) to his brother. Then again, their killer was truly depraved. Today’s murder proved that. He hadn’t suspected the man at all until Casey’s murder. He’d heard the scream himself, as he’d been watching the movement of the city close by. He’d run to the street in question, turning the corner in time to see Dean Winchester fleeing the scene. There had been a crumpled body on the ground and he’d paused to see if she was dead before giving chase himself. He’d lost Dean in that short second; he’d come out on the next cross street to find it empty and silent. If Dean wasn’t the murderer, then he’d witnessed the crime, however, he’d never come forward with what he’d seen. That was suspicious. Castiel didn’t know what to think, only that he could trust Dean even less than he already had. They’d had a few exchanges since their first one but neither man gave an inch; he suspected Dean knew more than he was telling and it drove him mad.

Dean Winchester was a mystery and while Castiel loved solving mysteries, he simply didn’t have time for it now. The carriage drew to a halt in front of Scotland Yard. Castiel breathed a sigh and let himself out of the carriage. He’d left Charlie in Whitechapel to question the people who might have known the victim or seen anything. Mostly he was sparing her the down dressing he was about to receive from Chief Commissioner Turner and possibly his assistant, Singer, as well. It would bother him if he hadn’t been receiving them weekly at this point. He squared his shoulders and marched in to face the music.

***

**November 12, 1888 10:00 AM**

There was nothing Charlie could do to make things easier for Castiel, though she honestly wanted to help. She often went in with him so they were both being told off instead of just him. Castiel was the best friend Charlie had ever had. When he found out she was a woman (sadly within the first six months of her working for Scotland Yard) he’d not even batted an eyelash about it. In fact, he simply suggested to Singer that she be promoted to work with him as a Detective because of her unique approach to crime. It was true that Charlie’s methods were different from what was typically used by Scotland Yard, but he wasn’t really fooling her either. She knew that Castiel had asked for her to be his right hand man so he could protect her identity.

They’d become friends at that point. Having learned her deepest secret seemed to break the ice between them. They spent increasingly more time together as they worked together but that had stretched into off work hours. Castiel was terrible at caring for himself, so Charlie would force him to eat her home cooked meals (because she knew he wouldn’t), and she also forced him to take laundry to the washer woman on the same day as she did (because, again, laundry seemed to slip his mind). She shared with him that she liked dressing as a man, in part, because she had a preference for the fairer sex, to which Castiel had revealed that he was only attracted to other men – hence they were both single. It turned out that they shared many similarities between them, and this had laid a firm foundation for their friendship over the years.

Their partnership had been serendipitous for the both of them in more ways than one, because they worked well together professionally and had become the most successful detective team on the police force. They solved every murder that came their way; at least they had until now. This case… neither of them had seen anything like it. Normally murders were the work of someone close to the victim, a jealous spouse, a jilted lover, a scheming relative looking for a fortune. All of these would eventually slip up and get caught once the heat was on. Here they had nothing. The prostitutes were all under Crowley’s employ, but they were treated decently well. They were housed by Crowley and treated as merchandise, which had some value at least, and the man seemed livid that they were being killed. Perhaps it was a cover, but Charlie tended to think it wasn’t. Castiel had theorized that someone had it out for Crowley and was killing them on purpose. That thought had some merit. It was the best they had right now.

It was Monday morning now and Charlie leaned back in her chair to stretch her spine and to rub her neck. She’d been poring over the microscope all morning looking at the bits and bobs they had collected at the murder scenes. Under the lens, she had a little piece of black wool that she’d found in Ruby’s room. Next to it, she had four more slides that were mounted with similar pieces of black wool. She couldn’t find any difference between them at all. Unfortunately, all that told her was that their killer was the same person and was likely wearing a black wool coat of some sort just like half of London right now.

“Is it the same?” Castiel asked from his desk without looking up from the picture he was studying. They’d received the photographs of Ruby’s room from the dark room this morning but as typical, the pictures were grainy at best. They would get more information from the detailed grid they constructed from the room in question. Still, Castiel went over each one with a magnifying glass, just to be certain there was nothing they had missed.

“Yes, it’s the same. But we knew that. There was no way that this could be anyone else.” Charlie sighed and swiveled her chair around to face her partner. Her bowler hat was lying on her desk so she took the liberty of combing her fingers through her short red hair. “I don’t understand how this guy is so good. Why is he doing this? What does he want?”

“I don’t know.” The frustration was clear in Castiel’s gravelly voice. “The prostitutes have nothing to steal. Crowley has so many enemies that it’s hard to isolate just one or two to investigate. It could be that ladies of the night offend his sensibilities. It could just be that they are easy targets.”

“How does he leave so little of himself behind? There hasn’t been even one hair. No footprints, and questionable witnesses who ‘may’ have seen him from a distance who only know that he’s wearing a long, dark coat. We already knew that.” Charlie crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at the tiles on the floor. Soon enough, Turner and Singer were going to want answers and they had none to give them. They both will be raked over the coals. Again.

A knock at the door jostled them both out of their reverie.

“Come in.” Castiel called as he shuffled the photographs and politely turned them over to spare whoever walked in a grisly view. At least until the door swung open to reveal Balthazar. Both occupants of the room relaxed.

“Good morning, my darlings!” The doctor all but sang out as he waltzed into the room with a folder full of papers, which he promptly tossed onto Castiel’s desk. Balthazar had always cut a very dashing figure and today his was turned out in a fine suit and patterned waistcoat, all in the first state of fashion.

“Good morning!” Charlie piped back from her chair.

Castiel crossed his arms without giving a greeting. “What do you have for us, Balth?”

“Come on now, Cassie. It’s a beautiful day out! Cold enough to freeze ones testicles off but beautiful none-the-less.” Balthazar sidled up behind Castiel and ruffled his hair, which made the detective growl. The doctor laughed as Cas ducked away.

“Could you please be serious, Balthazar? There is a murderer loose in the city.” Castiel picked up the folder and flipped it open to find an autopsy report inside.

“Being serious isn’t going to catch this guy. Nothing but hard work will do that.” Balthazar shrugged as he leaned his hip against Castiel’s desk. “You will catch him.” The doctor assured. “You two are the best.”

Charlie had been watching the exchange from her desk and edged her way into the conversation while Castiel read the report in front of him. “What did you find?”

Balthazar loved to talk and took the initiative to jump right in. “Well, the Ripper really did a number on her. This was far more violent than the other killings. He still cut her throat and he still cut into the abdominal cavity to remove organs and what not, but there were many features that were new. Her skin had been removed from her abdomen and her thighs, and then cast aside. It was almost as if he were dissecting her. Perhaps he was looking for something?” Balthazar shrugged. “That’s your job, not mine. Her heart was not found at all though the rest of the organs were there. He didn’t take her uterus or kidneys this time.”

Castiel grunted. “Perhaps he is looking for something.”

Charlie shrugged. “The right organ to take? What would he want them for?”

“Who knows? Each murder has been more and more violent. This time he cut her face to ribbons practically.” Balthazar crossed his arms over his chest, thinking right along with the rest of them. There was a crinkle with the movement, which brightened the doctor’s features. “Oh! I nearly forgot again. This came for me and I think you should have it.” He tugged a letter out of his pocket and pushed it to Castiel.

Castiel took it, turning the envelope over in his hands with an expression of understanding blooming across his face. “You got a letter from the killer? When?”

“Oh, the last week in October.” Balthazar said breezily, waving his hand.

“That was over two weeks ago!” Charlie exclaimed as she rushed over to read the contents of the letter, frowning.   “You should have brought it to us when you received it!  You could be in danger!”

“It got lost under the paperwork that crossed my desk. You know, people are dying all over London every day and I have to deal with them all.” The doctor replied, somewhat defensively. “The important thing is that you have it now.”

Castiel grunted and glanced up to Balthazar. “I am most appreciative.”

“Good, I will leave you to it!” He pushed off of the desk and headed towards the door. “Good luck, mon amis, though I’m sure you won’t need it.” With that, the doctor breezed out and closed the door behind them.

Charlie exchanged a look with Cas. “Is it going to be useful?”

“It’s hard to say, the writing is even worse than before.” Cas sighed as he tossed the letter onto his desk. “At least the newspaper didn’t get it first.”

“I don’t know, Sam would have brought it to us faster.” Charlie picked the letter up and carried it over to her desk. “I’ll have a look, you keep working on the pictures.”

Castiel looked up from his paperwork.  “Do you really think Balthazar could be in danger?”

“He’s in the Ripper’s sights now.  Who knows what could set this guy off?  Also, listen to this,” Charlie said before reading the letter to her partner.

_Old boss you was rite it was the left kidny i was goin to hoperate agin close to your ospitle just as i was going to dror mi nife along of er bloomin throte them cusses of coppers spoilt the game but i guess i wil be on the job soon and will send you another bit of innerds_

_Jack the Ripper_

_O have you seen the devle_

_with his mikerscope and scalpul_

_a-lookin at a kidney_

_with a slide cocked up_.

“He doesn’t mention attacking the doctor,” Cas pointed out.

“But he does refer to the hospital.  He obviously knows where Balthazar works….”  Charlie let her thought trail off, because they were both thinking the same thing.

Her partner nodded curtly and returned back to the photographs which plunged the room into silence. They needed more clues. Charlie was transcribing the letter with a careful hand while she thought it over. If they don’t move soon, someone else is going to die. This may call for more invasive police work, perhaps even undercover. She’s not ready to propose the idea to Castiel yet, but if they get too far into the week without something new, she’ll bring it up. The longer this madman is out murdering people, the more desperate they each will get.

***

**November 16, 1888 9:00 PM**

Jo burst into Sam’s apartment to find Dean sitting at his small kitchen table, his case notes spread over the entirety of it, save for the small spot lent to the bottle of gin Dean was drinking directly from.  “Geez, Jo, don’t you know how to knock?”

“Ran into Sam at the newspaper, and he said you’d be here,” Jo said as if that explained anything.  Actually, she had practically pounced on Sam at his place of business and forced him to give her whatever information he had about the case.  Instead, he sent her to Dean.

“Well, get on with it.  What do you want?” Dean asked.  If Jo had been bothering Sam and was now here, she obviously wanted something.

“I wanted to find out what you boys know about the Whitechapel murders.  But now, I think I have a plan to catch the culprit.”

“What in damnation are you talking about, Harvelle?” Dean asked incredulously.

Jo grabbed the bottle and took a rather long drink from it.  “This…guy…is going after prostitutes, right?  Not just prostitutes, but Crowley’s girls.  So, what if I just go undercover as one and draw the guy out?”

Dean just raised an eyebrow at her.  “While the idea of you dressed as a lady of the night does have a certain appeal to it, no.  You’re not doing it.  It’s too dangerous.”

Jo slammed her hands onto the table in front of Dean, successfully jostling what he was looking at.  “I AM doing this Dean.  The safety of those girls was MY responsibility.  I have to find the monster that did this.  You can help, but you can’t stop me.”

“Fine.  What’s the plan?”

***

Charlie barged into the office, where Castiel had all his notes and evidence for the case spread out on his desk, a bottle of gin and a glass off to the side.  “Did you forget how to say hello?” he asked her gruffly.

“No time.  I have a great idea for how to crack this case wide open!” Charlie said enthusiastically.

Cas raised an eyebrow at her.  “Oh really?”

“Use me as bait.  I’ll go undercover as one of Crowley’s girls and we’ll see if this jackass takes the bait,” Charlie explained.

Castiel thought about it for a minute before he spoke.  “That’s actually an excellent idea.  I’m going with you though, as backup.  Besides, I can’t pass up the chance to see you in an actual dress.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, boss,” Charlie agreed before polishing off what was left in the glass on the detective’s desk with a wince. Why the hell did he have to drink such cheap gin?

***

A couple of hours later, Jo broke into the room that once belonged to Toni, the second victim.  She and Toni were about the same size, and Toni also had the best things, being that she was one of Crowley’s favorites.  This also meant that Crowley hadn’t immediately cleaned her room out and moved in someone else.  Jo carefully chose her outfit for that evening, while Dean waited impatiently outside the building.  Jo wanted something that would allow her to look the part, but was also easy to move and fight in, should the need arise.  It was also critical that she have ample places to hide her many blades. Toni’s corset was tight but Jo could stick a slim stiletto in it easily. Wearing only petticoats felt strange to Jo, but she would have to deal with it for the night. Finally deciding on appropriate attire, she made quick work of changing from her normal outfit of trousers and shirt and into the rough dress of a Whitechapel prostitute.

When Jo came downstairs, it was to find Dean smirking at her. She scowled. “Stuff it, Winchester, I’ve got work to do.”

***

Not actually owning a single scrap of ladies’ clothing, Charlie had to go shopping to find her undercover garb. She was shocked and a little horrified to find out what the Whitechapel clothing market looked like. She was also partially afraid that there were lice in the clothing. Having found the appropriate attire which was reasonably clean, she was now standing in her loft, in her undergarments, looking at the dress as if it were an alien being.  She literally had no idea where to start.  She was startled out of her staring contest with the fabric by a knock on the door.

“Charlie, are you ready yet?  We need to get to Whitechapel before it gets dark.”

“Not yet, Castiel,” she called out.

Without further ado, Cas let himself into the flat.  “Charlie, I don’t think those undergarments are acceptable, even for a lady of the night.”

“No shit, Sherlock.  I just…I have no idea what to do with all of…that.” She gestured towards the offending bundle of female garments laid out all over her furniture.

“Well, at least you DID manage to get the proper undergarments on…and almost correctly,” Castiel chuckled as he made his way across the room to her.  “Here, allow me.”  With that, Castiel rearranged her clothing, and layer by layer got Charlie dressed.

As Charlie admired her reflection in her one mirror, she marveled, “Where did you learn to do this, Detective Novak?”  There was more than a hint of amusement in her voice.

“My mother was a seamstress.  As a child I frequently had to help her around the shop, mostly dressing her dress forms in whatever her latest design was.” Castiel explained, bored, as if he had told this story before.

“Huh.” Charlie mused as Castiel laced her up before she got a sly look. “Ever try anything on?”

“Of course not!” His blush, however, told a very different story.

***

In an alley off of Hanbury Street, Jo wandered the night.  She had been up and down every street where the bodies of the dead girls had been found, and so far hadn’t had a nibble.  She had been approached by a few eager Johns, but when they recognized Crowley’s enforcer, they skulked away.  Dean was hidden in the shadows, watching her carefully.  As she emerged at the mouth of the alley, she saw another woman working the streets.  One she did not know.  This caused Jo both anger and concern.  Anger, because this was Crowley’s territory, only worked by his girls.  Concern, because this girl did not know how dangerous it was for her to be here.  Jo had finally convinced Crowley to bring his girls off the street at night until the murderer was caught, but with the promise elicited from her to keep other girls off of the street.  Of course, it had also required a threat from her to expose his operation to her contacts at Scotland Yard.

That was neither here nor there, however.  What was important was getting this girl off the streets.  Not because Crowley ordered it, but for the girl’s own safety.  With that one thought in mind, Jo approached the other woman.  In her best Whitechapel accent, she said with authority, “You know this is Mr. Crowley’s territory.  You shouldn’t be here.”

The redheaded woman got right in Jo’s face when she responded, also in a not quite authentic Whitechapel accent, “I’ve got just as much right to be here as you do.”

Recognition sparked in Jo’s mind as soon as she took in the other woman’s features, primarily the sparkling green eyes.  “Detective Bradbury?” she asked, in her own voice.

Surprised at being recognized so easily, especially in this attire, Charlie pinned the other girl to the wall, bracing her with a forearm across her chest, her other hand covering her mouth.  “Quiet, Ms. Harvelle, before you blow my cover!”

Jo’s eyes grew big as saucers as the implication hit her.  This detective was a woman, and nobody knew.  She didn’t have time to ponder further, as a tousle was occurring a few feet from where Bradbury had her pinned to the rough brick wall.

***

As soon as Dean saw the other woman pinning Jo to the wall, he was out of the shadows and bolting towards the alley like a shot.  He never made it to Jo because as soon as he approached the mouth of the alley, a very solid body was knocking him to the ground. 

The two men were locked in a grappling contest, neither able to see who the other was in the poor light of the alleyway. They rolled around on the dirt with a flurry of kicks and punches, and one man may have even bitten the other. The smell of copper laced the air as someone’s lip split. Neither man showed any signs of stopping. The battle only stopped with the arrival of two sets of boots and petticoats next to them. One of the newcomers cleared their throat…loudly. Only then did they take the opportunity to look at each other.

“Detective Novak.”

“Mr. Winchester.”

The two men spoke simultaneously.  Before their discourse could continue any further, a very young man in the uniform of a Scotland Yard runner came barreling onto the scene.  “Detective Novak, Sir, you’re needed immediately!”

Castiel stood and brushed himself off, not bothering to offer Dean a hand up.  “Yes, Alfie, what is it?”

“It’s urgent, Sir,” Alfie started.  “I was told to find you and bring you immediately to the Abbey.”  Under his breath, he added, “I think there’s been another murder.”

Castiel shot a quick look at Charlie, who was noticeably pale in the poor light. “It’s going to be another long night.” She said, her shoulders slumping as it became clear that the undercover fiasco wasn’t going to work.

“Indeed.” Castiel said, his eyes sweeping over the young blonde in the dress. She was familiar to him but he couldn’t place her, which was strange. At this point, Castiel was certain he knew every whore in Whitechapel on sight. “Come on, Bradbury.” He pressed a bag into her arms and began to walk away.

Taking the bag in her hands (and silently thanking her stars that Cas had insisted they bring a change of her normal clothes with them), Charlie sent Jo a hard look. Something passed between them. Having the woman recognize her was too close for comfort but she had no idea what to do about it. She doubted threats would work. She’d have to see to this later. Thus resolved, she turned on her heel and scurried off after Novak, silently cursing the heeled boots that all the women seemed to wear nowadays. Men’s shoes were much more comfortable.

Dean rubbed the back of his head where it had cracked the pavement as he watched the carriage carry off the detective and his companion.  “Did Detective Novak just leave with a prostitute?”

“No, Dumbass.  He just left with Detective Bradbury in disguise,” Jo explained.

“Really?” Dean asked dazedly, still rubbing his head.  “I suppose the guy does have delicate enough features to pass for a lady of the night.”

 “Yeah, that’s it.  Delicate features.” Jo said slowly as she retrieved the bag with her change of clothes from where she stashed it.  “Let’s go, I heard the runner say something about the Abbey.”

“Great.  I’ll follow the Detective and his ‘Lady’ friend.  You go home.”

“No way, Winchester.  I got the info, I’m going with.” Jo insisted.

Knowing time was of the essence; Dean threw his hands up in the air in agreement and hailed a carriage for them.  Once they were settled in, Dean rubbed his bicep and muttered.  “Damn, I think that jackass bit me.”


	6. Chapter 6

**November 16, 1888 3:30am**

_Why in hell are we being called to the Abbey?_  The thought kept echoing around and around in Castiel’s head as the coach took them to the Abbey on the far side of Whitechapel. It’s strange that there was one there in the first place; however, Anna told him once that it was so the nuns could help the poor in the neighborhood. _Anna._   He tried to ignore the cold creep of terror that was marching its way across his chest. The night was already not going well.

Tonight’s mission had gone poorly from the very beginning. Both he and Charlie had neglected to consider that Crowley’s enforcer would be defending the territory, dressed as one of Crowley’s girls to boot. Worse that she’d recognized Charlie for what she was. And then there was Dean. All he’d seen was the shadow of a man rushing towards Charlie and the blonde from the shadows. They’d been there to catch a killer and they well knew that the monster would take two women at once. He’d reacted on pure instinct to stop the madman; that was his role in that evening’s venture, after all. If nothing else, this gave Castiel yet another reason to suspect Dean. Why the hell was the man hiding in the shadows watching the girls? He ground his teeth in frustration. His gut said Dean wasn’t who they were looking for despite the growing evidence to the contrary. Castiel staunchly ignored how much he wanted the man; the fear gnawing at the edges of his senses made that easy at least. It didn’t change the fact that Dean was a thorn in his side that didn’t go away.

_Anna._

The thought plagued him as he watched the dilapidated houses of Whitechapel roll by from the window of the carriage. He could hear the whisper of fabric as Charlie dressed herself behind him. There was a hiss of frustration and then Charlie was tapping his shoulder. He turned.

She sat in the seat across from him in bloomers with the corset strings clutched in her fingers, frustration written across her fingers. “I can’t get this undone.”

Castiel relented and reached for the laces which were now tied in an impressive knot. “How did you manage this?” His voice was mild as he patiently picked at the knot.

Charlie’s hand smoothed over his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not… I’m sure everything is fine, Cas.”

“Of course.” He murmured, tugging the last string free and letting go. Charlie wasted no time in pulling the middle of the corset open with a great sigh of relief. Her chemise beneath showed through. She was shockingly undressed to be in male company but this had never been an issue between them; neither had the equipment the other preferred. Charlie was likely his best and only friend. He tried to hang onto the thought as he watched her pull on the linen shirt and woolen trousers across from him.

It didn’t work. _Anna._ What the hell had happened at the Abbey? He glanced out the window again and hissed. The Abbey was close. “Charlie, hurry.”

 “I’m trying!” She squeaked as she hurriedly buttoned up her vest.

Cas reached down to grab her coat just as the carriage came to a halt. The rocking sent him falling into the floor which caused the carriage to rock once more. He slipped onto the seat next to Charlie and shoved her into the garment as she struggled to put her mustache in place. Fabric rustling was the only sound heard for a moment. Charlie’s bowler was tossed onto her head and then Cas opened the door to let them both out. He stood to cover Charlie’s exit from the coach so the driver wouldn’t see her; after all, a girl had gone in with him and a man was coming out. It was bad enough that Jo and maybe Dean knew her secret; anyone else learning it would be disaster. He paid the driver a generous tip while Charlie made herself scarce.

Once the carriage was on its way, he forced his way through the crowd with his eyes darting wildly in all directions. The barely contained terror was beating its wings inside his chest as it tried to spread. _There!_ In front of the gathered crowd of onlookers was a group of terrified nuns that were clinging to each other. He strode purposefully towards them.

“Castiel!” A red-haired woman broke from the crowd of nuns, her dress was disheveled and her habit missing.

There were no words to describe his relief as it washed over him. “Anna!” He drew his sister into a crushing hug as the cold fear that had possessed him went out. When he drew back, her face was tear streaked and her nose red from crying.

“It’s… it’s horrible, Castiel.” Her voice was quiet and her eyes wide. “He… killed Sister Hester. It’s terrible… terrible.” Her face paled as she whispered the final words, her eyes becoming distant.

Castiel tightened his fingers on her arms to keep Anna in the here and now. He didn’t need her talking to angels when he needed to know what was happening. “Who did, Anna? Who killed her?”

“The Ripper.” As soon as the words were out, his sister went lax in his arms and he barely stopped her from falling to the ground. He scooped her up and carried her to the group of nuns.

Another emerged from the group. She was fully dressed with kind blue eyes and well known to him. He nodded to her. “Sister Hannah.”

“Detective Novak.” She greeted as she placed a hand lightly on his wrist and guided him to a bench near the path where the nuns had gathered. “Lay Anna here. We will care for her. You’ve work to do.”

The sound of tears and whispers surrounded him as he passed those gathered and laid Anna on the bench. When he straightened up, all their eyes were on them. This was his fault. If only he’d caught this man sooner. _What the hell was he doing at the Abbey? The Ripper likes prostitutes!_ Not anymore, it seemed. He walked away from the nuns, heading towards the door to the Abbey where he could see a priest being interviewed by a bobby. Charlie stood next to them, listening on.

“May God keep you and protect you, Detective.” Sister Hannah’s words floated to him across the frost covered lawn. He turned up the collar of his great coat against the chill but that wasn’t what made him shiver. He knew what he would find inside.

He stood waiting for Charlie next to the door of the Abbey. She pulled away from the bobby and the weeping priest and came to his side. They entered the door together. They didn’t need to speak to know that they were on the same page. Both knew what they would find when they walked through that door. They weren’t disappointed.

Sister Hester had been savaged in the same way that the prostitute Ruby had been. Blood soaked into the nun’s narrow bed and was dripping off the side into what was a growing puddle across the bare floor. Each drop hit the puddle with a drip. It was the only sound in the room at all. _Drip. Drip. Drip._ Hester’s face had been slashed to the point that it was unrecognizable. This was both stomach turning and something of a blessing. Her eyes were not staring at them. It took Castiel a moment to realize that they had been removed. Just like the others, she had been killed with a slash to the throat – this one was deep enough that a white glint of bone could be seen among the blood oozing from the wound. Her abdomen was completely open. It gaped so widely that it gave the impression that she’d been completely bisected at the waist. Her organs were spread around her on the bed. Above her head lay what looked like her liver. A lung lay under her right hand. Her rib cage was easily visible.

“It gets worse every time.” Charlie’s voice was nearly a whisper behind him.

Castiel’s mind was curiously blank. He knew Sister Hester. He saw her when he visited Anna at the Abbey. She wasn’t necessarily friendly with him, but she was kind enough to Anna. Her blond hair was completely soaked with her blood. The cross above her bed had been turned upside down. The wall around it was splashed with blood though he couldn’t immediately tell if it came from her slashed throat or the grisly work that came after she was dead. He was still standing just inside the door, though now he took a couple of steps forward, until the toes of his shoes were close enough to the puddle to nearly touch it. He wondered how many organs the Ripper had taken this time.

“We should get started, Charlie.”

She nodded and began to go over the wall next to the door, looking for clues. This was going to take hours. Castiel passed her and glanced to the nearest bobby. “Guard the door and all the windows. I don’t care how many men it takes. No one comes in or out of this building until we are done.” He started to leave, and then turned back as something occurred to him. “If someone tries to force their way in, arrest them and send them to Scotland Yard for questioning.” The man nodded curtly and walked away. That should keep Dean Winchester off his back for a little while. With that taken care of, Castiel returned to the room and went back to the arduous process of examining the scene. Turner was going to be furious so they had better come up with something good this time.

***

Dean and Jo made their way to the Abbey after Castiel and Charlie left them, however, they had been delayed by an argument over Jo going (because Dean thought she should stay put and Jo was adamant about going) and then by Jo changing clothes before they left (“There’s no way I’m going like this, Winchester. What if we have to chase the murderer?”). As a result, Dean was frustrated and feeling a little bit henpecked as they elbowed their way through the gathered crowd of onlookers. Most were gawkers, though he could see a couple of reporters among them. No Sam, though. As they came to the front of the crowd, he saw a group of nuns near the end of the Abbey talking to a tall man. So, Sam was already interviewing the witnesses. That saved Dean the time of doing it himself because Sam would share what he learned, which was more than he could say for some Scotland Yard detectives. He ground his teeth in frustration. How the hell could Castiel Novak be everywhere he wanted to be? The man was either one step in front of or one step behind Dean. He couldn’t tell which it was but it made him damned uncomfortable. The man was too close and knew something Dean didn’t.

Being at the front of the crowd exposed them both to the cold, which made Dean even more annoyed. He hated being cold. Now they could also see that the Abbey was completely covered by bobbies. They were stationed at the door and every entrance. That had to be Novak’s doing. “Dammit.” Dean swore as he looked over the building to try to find a way in. Nothing.

Beside him, he heard Jo swear before taking a step towards the Abbey.

“Jo!” He reached out for her arm to stop her.

She whirled about to face him, fury in her eyes. “That man killed people I am responsible for Dean. They won’t keep me out!” She jerked her arm out of his grip and marched across the frozen yard without giving him time to explain that investigation is a lot harder if you piss off the police. She wouldn’t have listened anyway.

Dean scrambled after her, flagging a step behind. He was aware of Sam moving in his peripheral vision. _God damn it! Has everyone lost their damn mind!_ This wasn’t going to end well.

Sure enough, the moment Jo came to the door; the bobbies stepped in front of it. “You can’t go in there. No one in or out until Detective Novak says so.”

“I don’t give a damn about what Detective Novak says.” Jo hissed in their faces, her fist clenching.

Dean barely caught her before she tried to hit the man. “Jo, come on now. Let’s leave the nice men alone.”

“Shut up, Dean!” She shouted back, and then twisted her arm free. Dean tried to grab her again, but she’d already grabbed her knife from its belt sheath and was waving it in their faces. “You will let me in or I’ll rearrange your face!”

This did not have the effect that Jo desired. The two bobbies moved with surprising speed, one grabbing her arm to wrestle away the weapon and the other manhandled Jo into the wall. She hit the brick with a thud that appeared to knock the breath out of her.

“Hey! Hey! Come on now, she’s just upset because she knows someone in there.” Dean said, slowly approaching the bobby that held Jo with open hands.

“Stay back!” The bobby warned.

“I don’t mean any harm. I just want to take my sister here home… okay?” He moved slowly towards Jo. This was the wrong move. The bobby who’d taken Jo’s knife and one from inside the door that Dean hadn’t seen before swarmed him. Dean could have fought them off, but seriously, while Novak frustrated the hell out of him, he didn’t want to make an enemy of him. Or the police, for that matter.  He let them press him into the wall next to Jo, who was still struggling. “Just stop.” He hissed at her.

She glared back.

“This is all a misunderstanding.” A voice behind them insisted. Sam.

“Get away from the building.” One of the bobbies shouted at Sam.

“I don’t want to see anyone hurt, here. Let them go and I’ll take responsibility for them and get them home.” Damn Sam and his calm, ingratiating voice.

“Oh, know them do you?” The bobby nearest them drawled. “Arrest him too.”

The sound of the scuffle was blessedly short. At least Sam had the sense to avoid struggling. Soon enough he was pressed against the wall next to Dean.

“Just like old times, eh Sammy.” Dean flicked an eye to his brother and grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Do you know how pissed my editor is going to be?”

“Hey, you were the one who waded in.” Dean pointed out as he was clapped in shackles.

“What the hell happened anyway?” Sam demanded as his wrists were closed in the cuffs.

“Ask Jo.” Dean shot back. Next to him Jo snorted as they were let into the police carriage and whisked away from the Abbey.

***

They’d barely started examining the scene when Castiel heard a clatter arise from outside the Abbey. He turned back to his work near the bed trying to ignore the shouting from outside the building. Charlie glanced up, appearing both curious and annoyed.

“What is that noise?” She demanded.

“I imagine someone just tried to force their way in here. “ Castiel said, raising an eyebrow at her and trying not to smile. One didn’t smile at a murder scene.

“You set a trap for Dean Winchester.” Charlie observed as she turned back to the wall.

“Would that be unprofessional?” Castiel peered under the bed to see something that had been dropped and spying a sticky mess. Dean Winchester was promptly forgotten as Castiel extracted a kidney from underneath the bed.

***

Sam, Dean, and Jo were tossed into one of the rooms at Scotland Yard to wait for ‘questioning’ whatever that meant. All three of them were left in handcuffs. Jo paced the room angrily while Dean flopped on the couch to wait.

“Do you think Novak will question us?” Sam asked as he took the opposite end of the couch.

“Oh, probably.” Dean muttered as he laid his head against the back cushion.

“This… isn’t like Novak.” Sam pointed out as he chewed thoughtfully on his lip. “He’s never had me arrested before. What did you do to piss him off?”

“I attacked him in an alleyway earlier.” Dean admitted with his eyes closed.

Sam spluttered. “What the hell, Dean?”

“Again, ask Jo.” Dean didn’t move.

“Jo?” Sam’s voice was stern and Dean was sure that he was wearing one of his serious reporter expressions.

“It’s complicated.” Jo muttered as she paced.

“Well, we’ve got nothing but time.” Sam pointed out. “Novak won’t get to us until he has finished his investigation. Let’s hope he doesn’t go home for a nap first.”

It turned out that they had a lot of time. The morning passed in a blur of snoozing while Sam insisted on Jo telling the truth. It took him time but eventually he got the whole story. Somewhere around midday they were given bread, cheese, and tea. By that time, they were starving and fell upon the meager offerings as if they were mana from heaven. Shortly after that, Jo began to insist that she be allowed to speak with Vice-Commissioner Singer, as he was her step-father. The bobby who’d heard the demand had scurried away with wide eyes, however, it was hours before the door so much as opened once more. The sun was low on the horizon when Bobby Singer strode into the room, looking mightily annoyed.

“Well, what do you idjits have to say for yourselves?” He demanded, his eyes sweeping the room. He was dressed simply in a brown woolen suit and had an ink smudge across his cheek. Apparently it had been a grueling day in the commissioner’s office.

“Bobby! Get us out of here!” Jo started up but one look from the man quelled her. There was thunder in his eyes.

“Don’t you worry, Josephine Elizabeth, you are going home with me directly. I’ve read the reports and I imagine your ma is going to have something to say about you attacking a bobby with that knife of yours.”

“But Bobby!” Jo protested. “They weren’t letting me in and I need to see to find this guy…”

Again, Bobby silenced her with a look. “That ain’t the way to go about it and you know it.”

Jo looked at her feet, her lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn’t going to win here.

Bobby’s eyes turned to Sam and Dean. “And you two. I expected better from you lot.”

“Sorry Bobby.” Sam muttered, looking down shamefaced.

“I tried to stop her Bobby, she wouldn’t listen.” Dean said defensively, though he felt just as ashamed as Sam looked. He didn’t like disappointing Bobby; his opinion was one that mattered to Dean.

“If you hadn’t been poking at Novak all this time, he wouldn’t feel the need to take drastic measures to protect the scene of the crime.” Bobby groused at the both of them, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Can’t you reassign him or something? He’s in the way.” Dean shot back.

“Not a chance, boy.” Bobby’s glare was fully on Dean now. “Novak’s an odd duck, but he’s the best we got.”

“Some good he’s doing.” Dean muttered as he looked away.

“And you’re doing much better?” Bobby asked with a raised eyebrow. They glared at each other for a long moment before Bobby rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “We’ll talk about this later, Dean. For now I convinced Novak I’d question you lot before I let you go. He’s got hours of paperwork and it would have been tomorrow before he got to you.”

“Can we go, then?” Sam said, standing up.

Bobby stood aside to let them pass. When Dean passed him, Bobby caught his sleeve. “Come see me in the morning. Just you.”

Dean gave the old man a curt nod. He could have smirked when Bobby took Jo by the elbow and steered her away. He actually felt sorry for Jo; she was going to have hell to pay with her mother. He pushed that thought away. He had other things to take care of right now. If Novak wasn’t going to share his intel with him, then Dean would find another way. Bobby just told him that Novak would be busy for hours; that gave Dean an opportunity he wasn’t going to overlook.

***

**November 16, 1888 10:00 PM**

Dean made quick work of picking the lock on Detective Novak’s flat.  He really had just started to look around when the detective came home.  In the split second it took for Dean to make the decision whether or not to hide or fight, Castiel was on him. He hadn’t expected the detective to be so strong, but the tackle he received pushed him close to the wall. Dean reacted on instinct and took a swing at the guy. His fist connected with Castiel’s chin and the man let him go as he stumbled backwards.

What Dean should have done was gotten the hell out of there. After all, he was the one who was breaking into a police detective’s home and could go to jail. Hell, Castiel could clap him in irons and take him away right then. He could report him to Scotland Yard and there wouldn’t be a damn thing Bobby could do to get him off. But Dean took one look at the other man in the silvery light from the moon that bled into the otherwise dark room and felt the stirrings of instant attraction. Worse, the way those blue eyes glared fire at him turned attraction into arousal.

So, Dean didn’t run. He gave the other man his best cocky smile and greeted him. “Good evening, Detective. Fancy meeting you here.” He set himself up for another attack.

Novak wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his lips. “Mr. Winchester.” The man didn’t disappoint him but came at him with another attempt to grapple him to the wall, but Dean, now ready, pushed back hard. There was a crash of bodies and the ragged pant of breath as Novak drove a fist into Dean’s side as he made a grab for Castiel’s head to draw him into a headlock. They came to an impasse with Dean holding Cas around the neck and shoulders and Castiel having Dean around the waist and hips. Neither could let go without losing ground.

What Dean shouldn’t have done was notice the way the man smelled. It shouldn’t go straight to his cock.

Castiel shouldn’t have noticed how hot Dean’s skin was in his grasp. That shouldn’t have gone to his head.

“What are you doing in my home?” Castiel gasped as he squirmed, trying to free himself from Dean’s hold.

“You won’t share, Detective. I’m getting desperate here.” Dean admitted as he tightened his grip on the detective. “This guy is killing people.”

“You think I don’t know that!” Novak’s voice was low and angry. Again, Dean felt the gravel in his tone go straight to his groin. “I told you, I don’t share.” The man ground out between his teeth.

“You don’t know how to play nice.” Dean tutted.

“Playing nice gets you nowhere.” Castiel shot back. Winchester’s jacket was askew and his lack of waistcoat meant that he had an excellent view of the man’s skin as the shirt he was wearing rode up and came untucked. He was tempted to bite it but knew that wasn’t just to free himself. He nearly groaned when he thought of what Dean’s skin tasted like. He was horrified at his growing arousal the longer Dean held him. The man had broken into his apartment and that made him all the more suspicious. What was the man up to? Why did he want him so damn much?

“True. Sometimes playing rough gets you everywhere.” Dean’s reply was gruff because he was trying to hide his arousal. He made a more concentrated move to bring Novak to his knees but shifted his footing at the wrong moment. Castiel got a leg behind his and drove his shoulder into Dean’s midsection. Dean stumbled and when he hit Novak became overbalanced. There was no stopping the fall. Dean went down to the floor where Novak straddled him with his hands pinned over his head. The position left them nose to nose. Once again, the air between them crackled with want so heavy they could both practically taste it.

Dean smirked up at the other man.  “You know, Detective, if you wanted to be on top, all you had to do was ask.”  Dean started to wriggle around to see if there was a way he could break the hold, until he realized he didn’t want to.  Judging by the hitch in the detective’s breath and the way his pupils dilated, Dean figured Castiel was having a similar reaction.  He decided to test his theory by rolling his hips up against the other man’s and was rewarded with a low moan. He could feel the bulge behind the man’s trousers when their bodies met. That was all he needed to know.

The roll of Dean’s hips underneath of him fried something in Castiel’s brain, and with a growl he bent down and claimed Dean’s lips in a possessive kiss, undulating his hips down against Dean’s with force.  When Dean moaned against his lips, Castiel took the opportunity to plunge his tongue hungrily into Dean’s mouth, earning another stutter of Dean’s body beneath his. Rational thought fled.

Castiel broke the kiss in order to growl, “Strip.” into Dean’s ear before releasing his wrists and climbing off of him.  If Dean whimpered when Cas moved, he may have chuckled darkly in response.  As Castiel stood up to divest himself of his garments, he took note that Dean was still lying on the ground staring at him.  “I won’t ask twice, Mr. Winchester,” Castiel glowered down at him.  Finally, Dean clambered up to comply. Castiel had never disrobed so quickly.

Once they were both free of the constrictions of their garments, Cas was on Dean in the blink of an eye, pinning his wrists behind his back and pushing him chest first against the wall of his small apartment.  “If you don’t want this, speak up now, Dean. Once I start I won’t want to stop,” Castiel whispered the warning in the other man’s ear.  He wanted to think he would stop if requested but at the moment, there was too much heat in his brain to truly tell.

“Just fuck me already,” Dean moaned into the wall.

Castiel chuckled low at Dean’s response before locking his teeth onto the side of Dean’s neck where it met his shoulder.  Dean moaned and shuddered with the contact.  Once Cas tired of sucking a mark into Dean’s neck, he pressed three fingers against Dean’s plush lips.  “Suck” he ordered.  Dean took those fingers into his mouth and furiously sucked and licked, swirling his tongue all around them.  Castiel wondered briefly what that tongue would feel like on his cock, but that wasn’t the goal currently.  His singular thought was how much he needed to fuck the man before him into the wall. He removed his fingers from Dean’s mouth and immediately pressed one against the man’s tight rim. He circled the flesh, reveling in the moan that fell from Dean’s lips and the press of the man’s hips against his fingers.

It had been a while since Castiel had done anything like this, and he didn’t know how long it had been for Dean, but the man was starting to realize as he was prepping Dean that saliva would not stay slick long enough to be of much use.  Somehow through his lust addled mind, the detective remembered a fine bottle of Spanish olive oil he had picked up the one time he had a chance to visit that foreign land.  He pulled his fingers out of Dean, earning a whimper from the other man.  He released the grip of his other hand on Dean’s wrists and growled in his ear, “Don’t move.”

It was just a few paces to the kitchen in his small apartment, but once he found the bottle of olive oil it took Castiel several minutes to wrestle the bottle, that still had the wax seal intact, open.  Dean was starting to get impatient from where he was still slouched against the wall.  “Cas, please.”

“Be quiet and don’t move,” Cas responded gruffly as he continued fighting with the bottle.

“Give me the damn thing.” Dean demand, still against the wall but now glaring at either Cas or the bottle or both, for the delay.

Castiel conceded defeat and offered it to Dean, who broke the seal almost immediately. He grinned up at Cas with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Fuck me now, please?”

Castiel pressed his shoulder into the center of Dean’s back to press him back against the wall. “Don’t push your luck, Winchester.” Coating his fingers in the oil, Cas returned his fingers to Dean’s rim, this time pushing inside. He smirked as he watched Dean’s lips fall open and heard his breath stutter.

“I always push my luck.” Dean’s voice was low and breathless and he pushed back with his hips to prove it, sending Castiel’s finger deeper into his body.

Cas pressed his weight forward, his chest against Dean’s back as his finger started moving in and out of Dean’s heat. He closed his teeth around Dean’s earlobe and pulled sharply before growling in a low voice, “You talk too much.” He sped his motion and was rewarded when Dean moaned. “I like that sound better.” He worked a second finger in, working Dean open a little more before he crooked them to touch the little bundle of nerves that drove the man to shout curses against the wall.

“Such a filthy mouth.” Cas whispered in Dean’s ear, working to strike that spot again and again, for the sheer pleasure of watching the other man writhe against the wall. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Fill it up.” Dean said around a rough gasp, his hips moving with the press of Castiel’s fingers.

“Those pretty lips of yours would look amazing wrapped around my cock.” He was rewarded when Dean moaned again, his eyes flicking to Castiel as if he wasn’t sure what he wanted more. “Later.” He promised, his teeth scraping down Dean’s throat as he worked yet another finger in. He found he loved listening to the filthy words that dripped from Winchester’s mouth.

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Cas? Putting this dirty mouth of mine to work.” Dean’s voice was breathless though he was trying to keep it together while Cas was currently trying to finger fuck him into oblivion. “Me, sucking you off. Your cock down my throat so I have to swallow your come?” Dean couldn’t stop the smile when the man behind him groaned thickly.

“Are you offering?” Castiel’s voice was rough against his ear and he could feel the man’s hot breath against his flesh. “I thought you wanted me to fuck you into this wall.” To prove his point, Cas worked a fourth finger into Dean’s body, pausing only a moment to rub his prostate again, which left Dean panting.

“Are you going to talk about it, or are you going to do it?” Dean shot back, his voice sounding too much like a whine for his taste but at this point, he couldn’t stop it. Then Cas withdrew his fingers and left Dean achingly empty, he almost whined with the loss of contact and barely stopped himself. Nothing, however, could stop the subtle tremble in his body when he felt the head of Castiel’s dick press against him. The man didn’t wait either; he pushed in slow and steady. Dean braced both of his hands against the wall and pressed hard against the plaster to stop himself from pushing back. Then again, Castiel had both hands on his hips and was gripping so tightly that Dean suspected he might have bruises. The thought alone thrilled him.

Dean swore he could feel the hammer of Cas’s heart against his back in that still moment before they started to move. The itch built in Dean until he couldn’t stand it and pressed back into Cas, signaling that he was more than ready. That seemed to be all Cas needed because he drew back and snapped his hips forward, driving into Dean with a force that could only be described as bone jarring. He groaned, his arms working hard to keep his face from being smashed into the wall. “Holy fuck, Cas!”

He could feel the man’s breath against his shoulder in the moment before his teeth scraped the skin. He barely noticed in the wake of the meeting of their bodies. Every time they crashed together, Dean was forced forward and found himself between the cold press of the wall and the blazing heat of Castiel behind him. The moment Cas let his shoulder go, Dean rolled his head back and turned so he could fix his own teeth on the man’s neck. He supremely enjoyed the shocked noise that bloomed in Cas’s throat and the answering pressure of those hands on his hips. He was shifted so that with the next thrust his prostate was nailed. He didn’t stop the scream, his eyes squeezing closed so he could focus on the sheer sensation of being pushed farther than he’d ever been before.

“Touch me.” Dean begged, uncaring as to how that sounded. All he cared was that he needed to come and he needed more for that to happen. “Touch me, please, Cas.”

Castiel reached around and splayed his hand over Dean’s stomach, felt the sweat slickened flesh before he took a slow slide downwards. He pressed his lips to the back of Dean’s neck before licking his skin for the sole purpose of tasting him. It was every bit as good as he imagined, salty with sweat with hints of the flavor that was completely Dean.

“Tease.” Dean groused as he pressed back against Castiel’s body, deliberately clenching around the man’s cock and grinning when the man moaned.

“I’ll show you teasing.” Cas dragged Dean’s hips back against his own and sped his thrusts, creating a brutal pace between them that neither would be able to last long under while he wrapped his fingers around Dean’s cock and gave it a sharp stroke. It didn’t take long at all before his thrusting became erratic and his breath sharp against Dean’s skin. He tightened his fingers on Dean’s cock.

“God, yes… just like that.” Dean’s encouragement was all Cas needed to persist. Seconds later Dean howled, his head falling back onto his shoulder as orgasm took him, hot come pouring over his hand and painting the wall. He did not fare any better, the moment Dean clenched around him when he came, Castiel spilled himself out inside of Dean’s body. They slid down, Castiel’s bare ass to his tiled floor with Dean sitting in his lap. There was silence in the room as the pounding of their hearts returned slowly to normal.

Eventually, Dean pulled forward and Cas slipped out of him. He felt come dribble down his thighs and took a tiny amount of satisfaction. He stood and looked down at Castiel, who was still sprawled on the floor. He’d been about to say something smarmy, however, when he was caught by that blue eyed stare the words died on his lips.

Castiel licked his lips. “What the hell was that?”

“I think you like me… at least a little.” So Dean was Dean, he couldn’t exactly stop himself completely.

Castiel snorted. He supposed that he did, though he was slightly disturbed that he hadn’t been able to control himself. “I still can’t share information with you.”

Dean sighed. “Can we just not worry about that? Just tonight? It’ll keep until morning.” Dean told him with a growing irrepressible smile. “You want to put your dick in my mouth, remember?”

“I do indeed.” Cas pressed back with his hands and propelled himself to stand. “You’re cleaning up my wall first.”

“Fine. Then you are cleaning my ass.” Dean shot back.

“That’s fair.” Dean was right about one thing, the rest would keep until morning.


	7. Chapter 7

**November 17, 1888, 7:00am**

Dean was moving quietly through Castiel’s townhouse as he picked up his clothing. It seemed that the good Detective had been up for nearly 24 hours when he had come home to find Dean in his apartment. Despite his level of exhaustion, he’d made good on cleaning Dean’s ass _and_ putting his dick in Dean’s mouth, then had returned the favor by putting Dean’s dick in his mouth. After that, the man had crashed like the dead, Dean still in his bed. He hadn’t complained when the other man had curled into his back and held onto Dean, in fact, Dean might have slept a little himself. You know, getting his four hours and what not. He should stay, work out the sharing information and what not, but Bobby had been clear about meeting him this morning.

Dean was pulling his pants on when Cas came bursting out of the bedroom, shoving clothing on hurriedly. He stopped dead when he saw Dean, still half dressed in the sitting room. His lips snapped shut and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Dean definitely should not find that sexy but he did. In fact, he was seized with the urge to put his lips on said Adam’s apple, then nibble his way up to Cas’s stubble covered jaw then see what happened from there. He cut off that line of thinking when little Dean started to show interest.

“Winchester. What…?”                                      

“Come on, Cas. You’ve had your dick in my ass; I’d say we’re friends. You can call me Dean.” Dean grinned at the Detective, waggling his eyebrows charmingly.

Despite himself, Castiel chuckled. “Fine, Dean.” He acquiesced. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I fell asleep in your bed after mutual orgasm and was just now picking my way across the room to get dressed.” Dean was trying to remain charming but it seemed as if Cas wanted him gone and that was killing his good mood. “I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Cas crossed the space between them in two short steps. His clothing hit the floor as he placed a hand on the back of Dean’s neck and dragged him over until their lips were touching. Dean swore he could feel his blood heating by several degrees as Cas parted his lips and slid his tongue inside. Several moments were lost as the two men lazily swiped tongues back and forth until Cas pulled back. “I don’t mean to be rude, Dean. I have a meeting with Vice Commissioner Singer this morning.”

Dean stopped short. “I do too.”

Castiel frowned. “How do you…?”

“I’ve known Bobby Singer since I was a kid. He was friends with my Father. I’ve always called him Uncle Bobby, actually.” Dean explained as he shrugged on his shirt and buttoned it up.

It seemed that this reminded Cas that he needed to get dressed and so he did likewise. “Was your Father a Detective?”

Dean paused in shrugging on his coat. “Something like that. He quit working at Scotland Yard after my Mother died.”

Castiel nodded and seemed satisfied as he carefully buttoned up his vest, then his coat before reaching for his tan overcoat. Dean stopped him to straighten his crooked blue tie which made the detective blush as he muttered his thanks.

Once they were both ready, Dean crossed to the door. “I suppose we can go together, since we are headed to the same place.”

Castiel nodded his agreement and they both left the flat together. Dean couldn’t help but hope that he would have the occasion to visit the good detective at home sometime soon.

***

When Dean and Castiel arrived together, Vice Commissioner Singer was clearly surprised. Castiel noticed the way the man’s eyebrow raised when they walked into the office, but the man said nothing and Castiel wasn’t going to press the issue. It was a Saturday and Scotland Yard was empty save for bobbies; those with any sort of rank didn’t have to be there on a weekend. This in and of itself made this meeting with Singer an oddity.

“Sit.” The gruff man motioned to the chairs across from his desk.

Dean did so before Castiel did; it was rare for him to relax in the presence of his superiors though Singer didn’t yell at him nearly as much as Turner did. He finally sat after staring at Singer for long enough that the old man was clearly uncomfortable.

“So, I didn’t come here to look at your pretty faces on a Saturday.” Singer started with a huff. “It’s no secret the two of you are working the Ripper case…”

“I was unaware that De… Winchester was a member of Scotland Yard.” Castiel cut the man off with some surprise.

“He’s not, which I was getting to if you would listen.” Castiel was properly quelled by those words and sank back into his chair, giving his undivided attention to the older man. “Dean here is a different sort of detective, not unlike those you would find on Bow Street.”

“Bobby…” Dean’s voice held warning to it, however, Bobby went on.

“He just has a special focus. You spend your time catching murderers; Dean spends his time killing monsters.”

“Monsters?” Castiel looked from Dean to Singer with confusion. Dean seemed to be trying to sink into his chair as if it would hide him. “Aren’t murderers and monsters the same thing?”

“No.” Singer’s answer was short. He crossed his arms over his chest with a sigh. “Remember when all those people went missing without a trace two years ago?”

“I do.” Castiel couldn’t forget it; the culprit had never been caught. The disappearances had simply stopped.

“Dean there was the one who stopped them.” Singer nodded towards Dean who was staring at his boots with a vengeance.

“Why didn’t anyone hear of it?” This seemed highly irregular to Castiel.

“Because, boy, there are some things people can’t know. You understand this.” The older man crossed the room to the sideboard, which held a crystal decanter of amber liquid and several glasses. He began to pour. “It’s just like the nasty business a few months ago with the barber and the pie shop. There was no reason to release that nastiness to the public so we didn’t. We protect them from the things that go bump in the night. You do so for the human element. Dean takes anything that doesn’t fit that bill. Consider him a hunter of sorts.”

Castiel cast another glance to Dean, who studiously was not looking at him. “A hunter of monsters?”

Singer nodded as he brought the glasses of whiskey over to them. Dean tossed his back in one motion. The older man didn’t speak until he sat down at his desk again. “I hear you are a church man. You believe in God and Angels, don’t you?”

“My Father was a vicar, so yes, I’m familiar with them.” Castiel agreed somewhat slowly.

“Then you believe in demons.”

Castiel couldn’t fault this logic. “I suppose I do.” A shiver ran down his spine as he thought of the upside down cross above the nun’s bed. Could Singer mean…? “You think a demon is tearing these women apart?”

Singer’s lips twitched at the corners. “I haven’t seen demons topside in a long time but it certainly could be. It’s bloody enough for one.”

“We don’t know.” Dean’s voice was quiet and frustrated as he spoke. He still wouldn’t look at Cas. In fact, he was glaring at the Vice Commissioner as if he were furious. “It could be any number of things, starting with demons and ending with humans.”

Castiel turned in his chair, his mind spinning with a mild terror as he considered the possibility that demons were real. “This is what you do? You hunt and kill demons?”

Dean risked a look at him, obviously uncertain of himself. “Among other things, Cas. You have no idea what is out there.”

Castiel blinked. “If demons are real….”

“Most of the stories of monsters you’ve heard are true boy.” Singer said impatiently, waving his hand as he sipped his whiskey. “Werewolves, vampires, ghosts… they are all real and out there in the dark.”

Castiel put his glass to his lips and tossed the contents down with a hiss. This conversation clearly needed more alcohol. He pushed the empty glass onto the desk. “So you are telling me this because a monster may be killing these women…” He didn’t get to finish the thought.

“Wait. Do you really believe all this?” Dean asked, now finally looking at Castiel as if he were stunned.

It was at the very edge of his belief but not beyond it. “Singer’s logic is sound. If demons are real then it stands to reason that everything else could be too.” Also, his sister talked to angels, but he didn’t want to get into that here. He believed that was true as well; Anna often talked of things that she simply had no way of knowing on her own.

Some of the tension ran out of Dean’s shoulders at those words. “So, we’ve completed the sharing portion of this meeting. Why are we here Bobby?”

“You idjits need to work together on this one,” the man told them with aplomb.

Dean spluttered.

“That would mean sharing everything.” Castiel was alarmed as this went against all the regulations.

Dean didn’t like it either. “Dammit Bobby, that’s way too dangerous. I’ve had a lifetime of experience hunting these things. Cas could be killed.”

Castiel’s head whipped around at Dean’s comment. He scowled. “I could be killed any time already. You don’t think it’s dangerous to work for Scotland Yard?”

Singer scoffed as well. “You know as well as I do that people are crazier than monsters, Dean. Monsters are just harder to kill.”

Dean glared at both of them before dropping his head down.

Singer went on. “I know this breaks every damn regulation in the book and goes against every instinct you have, but does that really matter when people are being murdered in their beds? I need you both on this. You’ll work better together. Hell, it seems you’ve already come to a truce.”

Castiel couldn’t stop the blush that rose to his cheeks when he thought of how that truce was made. He really shouldn’t be thinking of how tight Dean’s hole was last night in the station but he couldn’t exactly stop himself.

Dean, damn him, was grinning like a cat who’d gotten the cream. Castiel was tempted to wipe the expression from his face.

“Fine.” He calmly folded his hands on his lap and waited for the burning in his cheeks to go away.

“You got it Bobby.” Dean seemed downright cheerful, for all his earlier objections.

“Good.” Singer finished his drink and set his glass down. “Now get the hell out of my office.”

They both filed out and began to walk the halls of Scotland Yard until they came to Castiel’s office. He opened the door for Dean then followed him inside. Once the door closed, he turned to face Dean, who was still grinning. “I thought you didn’t like this idea.”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t like the idea of you getting hurt. However, Bobby’s right. You are going to chase this guy anyway and if he is some kind of monster, I won’t be able to help you from a distance.”

Castiel nodded, still bristling that Dean thought he needed protecting, however, he had to admit that when it came to the supernatural, he knew nothing at all. “I suppose I will share my files with you.” He turned to his desk and unlocked the bottom drawer and began to draw out plain folders.

Dean picked up an empty box from the corner and dropped it on the desk. “Put them in here. There’s no reason for us to stay here when we could go back to your place where there is food and a decent fireplace.”

Castiel nearly protested that it was against regulations but nothing was regular about this case anymore so he began to neatly tuck the folders in the boxes.

When he was done, Dean picked it up. “Come on, aren’t you a little _excited_ that we get to work _closely_ together now?”

Castiel chuckled as he picked up the inflection. “Maybe I am.” He led the way back to his flat, which was a short walk from Scotland Yard. “However, we are going back to my place to work, Dean.”

Dean’s smile was extremely suggestive as they walked. “Sure, Cas, but we’ll need to take breaks, you know. We won’t be able to solve it if we are exhausted and frustrated.”

Castiel tried to put on a beleaguered sigh but he couldn’t keep his lips from twitching. Perhaps Dean was right. Perhaps Castiel would use any excuse to take what he wanted. Either way, he was beginning to see that resisting Dean was nigh impossible.

***

**November 17, 1888 4:00 PM**

In front of Castiel, Charlie did her best to maintain a demeanor of calm, cool, and collected.  She knew this case was getting under his skin, even more so now that the Abbey where his sister lived had become a target of the Ripper.  But this case was getting to her as well.  She had been walking the streets near Scotland Yard all night, unable to sleep.  As the sun was rising over the horizon, Charlie finally decided to slip into the police station and crash out on one of the bunks for the constables that worked overnight for a few hours before heading home.

When she awoke a few hours later, Charlie realized she was starving and she couldn’t remember when she had eaten last.  With a sigh, she sauntered over to Bobby’s Rest, a pub not far from Scotland Yard.  It was run by Assistant Commissioner Singer’s wife, Ellen, and was the favorite watering hole for most of Scotland Yard.  Charlie rolled her eyes at the pun every single time she went.  Still, if she was going to be refreshed enough to wrap her head around this case, she needed nourishment, so she made her way in.

As soon as Charlie walked in, she was glad she had.  Her eyes immediately landed on the figure of Jo Harvelle behind the bar, looking positively ravishing in her bar maiden’s dress, simple though it was.  She caught Jo’s eye and threw a wink at her before making her way to a booth in the corner.

Ellen noticed the detective taking a seat and started to make her way out from behind the bar to take the order when Jo stopped her.  “It’s OK, Mom.  I got this one.”

“Really?” Ellen asked, surprised.  “I thought you didn’t want to interact with the police any more than absolutely necessary.”

“It’s fine.  Detective Bradbury is different.”

With a raised eyebrow, Ellen simply moved out of her daughter’s way.

Jo sashayed over to Charlie’s booth.  “What can I get for you, Detective?” she asked, returning the wink from before.

“I’m starving, so whatever food you have that’s hot and ready and a gin, please.  Also a way to fix my partner unwittingly revealing my secret to one Dean Winchester last night.”

“Coming right up.  Also, don’t worry about Dean.  He was so out of it from their fight, it was easy to convince him that you’re just a guy with delicate enough features to pass for a lady of the night.  It helps that Dean is sometimes kind of a dumbass,” Jo explained with a bright smile.  If that smile made Charlie melt, she hid it well.

A few minutes later, Jo returned with two plates of food and two drinks and slid into the booth on the other side of the detective.  Charlie smiled at her unexpected dining companion.  “So, do you come here often?”

Jo threw back her head and laughed, scooting in closer to Charlie. “Yes, I do, in fact.”

The two fell into an easy banter and chatted for several hours, discovering that dressing as men and working with stubborn, frustrating men wasn’t the only thing they had in common.

***

**November 17, 1888 5:00 PM**

Cas hadn’t been kidding about working that day. They laid out everything from the boxes by event. Dean spent hours pouring over photos of the scenes and the victims. He read transcript after transcript of interviews with people who claimed to have witnessed something. Most were useless. There were two or three that claimed to have seen a fair haired man wearing a long coat in the relative neighborhood where a murder took place. Dean marked these and stuck them out of the piles for them to consider later. Cas seemed to be doing much of the same, marking out pictures and the autopsy reports. Somewhere around noon, Cas got up and threw together lunch for them, though it wasn’t a very fancy affair just tea and sandwiches. They ate over the case files in the way that only investigators of grisly crimes can.

Together they discussed what Cas found and Dean shared what he knew about the crimes as well. Cas wrote copious amounts of notes as he synthesized all of the knowledge about the case together into one large document. By the time the sun started to set, Dean’s head was spinning. He felt like he’d poured so much knowledge into it that it was going to run out of his ears. With a sigh, he tossed down an autopsy photo of Hester and stood up. Cas’s eyes followed him.

“I’m starving.” Dean grunted as he went to Cas’s side board and poured himself a drink of whatever was in the glass decanter there. He sniffed it before he drank it. Whiskey. He poured another for Cas and pressed it into the man’s hand before he went towards the kitchen area of the townhome.

Cas accepted the drink with a nod and turned back to the files. Dean worked to put together something more substantial to eat out of what was in Castiel’s kitchen. “This is ridiculous, Cas. Where’s the food?”

Cas looked up with a blank expression on his face before he realized what Dean was asking. “I’ve not been to the market in some time. Cooking isn’t my forte.”

“How the hell do you eat?” Dean demanded as he jerked ingredients from the pantry and started to get creative.

“Charlie often brings food to the station in the evenings.” Cas didn’t even look up from his work. “Or someone brings food by my desk. I’ve never thought of it.”

Dean went about his cooking while muttering to himself about the lack of supplies. He tried to insist that they break for the meal but Cas wouldn’t be budged from his position in the sitting room so they ate once more over the case files. Dean also washed the dishes by himself, savoring the time standing so he could work the feeling back into his legs after sitting for too long. He glanced in to Cas, who was still lost in the work before them. Beyond compiling their information, they hadn’t found anything all day.

Dean sat down next to the man on the couch and tapped his knee. “Come on, break time.”

Cas looked up at him, blinking owlishly. “Dean, I’m sure if I look at this a little bit longer, I’ll find something.”

“We’ve been staring at it all damn day, Cas. We’ve got nothing.”

Cas turned, slanting his knees away so his back was facing Dean. Obviously, drastic measures were required. Dean scooted forward and applied his lips to Cas’s earlobe. “Cas, you need a break. My eyes are swimming so yours must be too.” He caught the earlobe between his teeth and tugged it gently. “Haven’t you ever walked away from something then come back to it later to have a big epiphany?”

Cas squirmed on the couch before him. “I have, but I’ve tried that with this case before.” The man’s voice was clearly frustrated, which Dean understood, because this entire mess was frustrating. There were other ways to vent frustration besides beating your head against a proverbial brick wall. So he didn’t stop what he was doing.

Dean’s lips worked down from Cas’s ear, kissing the top of his neck where it met his jaw then nibbled his way down the back of the detective’s neck. He didn’t attempt to stop Cas from what he was doing in any way, he simply kept on going. When he came to the top of the man’s collar, he reached around to pull out the knot in his tie before sliding the silk out and laying it aside on the couch. He opened the button at Cas’s throat and parted the fabric open, then went on to the next button to do the same. When more flesh was exposed, he kissed it.

Cas froze before him, his hands still on the paper he was reading. “What are you doing?”

“Shhhh, don’t mind me. You keep reading.” Dean hummed against the nape of Cas’s neck just before he scraped the flesh with his teeth, earning him a hiss of breath from the detective.

“Dean….” Cas squirmed in front of him. “I can’t….”

“Don’t let me stop you.” Dean couldn’t keep the smile off of his lips as he began to work on the buttons of the man’s waistcoat. When he reached the bottom, his hand brushed something hard straining at the fastening of Cas’s pants. So much the better. Dean slipped the waistcoat down the man’s arms and laid it over the arm of the couch, taking care not to wrinkle the fabric. He thought Cas would appreciate that.

“Dean…”

Dean went to work on the buttons of the man’s shirt. “You’re a professional, aren’t you? I know you can concentrate through this, can’t you Cas?”

Dean watched Cas tighten his jaw. While he couldn’t see it, he was sure that the man’s blue eyes were lighting up with the challenge. “Of course I can.”

“Good. I think a little relaxation will help you. You keep going, I’ll just help get the tension out of these shoulders.” Dean pressed his fingers into said shoulders, pressing into the knots he found there. Of course, he didn’t leave it at that; he brought his lips down to the nape of Cas’s neck again, this time biting him. It wasn’t hard enough to break the skin, but there would be a bruise. More importantly, Cas clearly was fighting against the strangled moan that Dean heard.

Dean worked in this way for quite some time, until he’d worked out every knot and kink of Castiel’s back, and had nipped and kissed the entirety of the exposed skin before him. Cas was breathing heavily, the knuckles of one of his hands white from the tight grip he had on the opposite arm of the sofa.

“How are you doing there?” Dean asked as he wrapped his arms around the man’s waist and rested his chin on Cas’s shoulder so he could look at what he was reading. Amazingly, it was a different document than he’d had when Dean started.

“Just fine, Dean. I think I’m making progress.” Despite the heightened rate of breathing, Cas’s voice was remarkably calm.

Challenge accepted.

Dean’s fingers traced over the plains of Castiel’s stomach, feeling the skin quiver beneath his touch faintly then pull in the farther down he went. When he touched the waistband of the detective’s pants, he didn’t fool around either. He went straight for the fastenings and undid them, parting the fabric so Cas’s cock sprang free. From his perch on Cas’s shoulder, he could see that it was already red and leaking. Dean turned his head to scrape his teeth over Cas’s neck once more though this time he lingered, allowing himself to suck a dark mark where his teeth had once been. Cas leaned heavily against Dean for a moment, his breath speeding subtly while Dean did sinful things to his neck with his teeth and tongue. The paper Cas was reading came up as well, though Dean had no clue if it was actually being read. He almost called bullshit, but at the last minute didn’t. He’d find a way to make him toss it.

The moment Dean felt Cas’s body tremble against his own, he shifted again, parting the fabric of the detective’s pants open further so he could wrap his hand around the base of his cock. He gave it a long, very slow stroke, taking the time to feel every inch of the silken skin. Cas groaned, his head rolling back and exposing more of his throat for Dean’s perusal. It was an advantage he full well intended to exploit.  He dug his teeth in as he gave the flesh a second stroke, this time his hand spread precome down the length to smooth the way.

“Dean!” Cas’s hips thrust into Dean’s hand, urging him to go faster but he refused, keeping the pace of his stroke maddeningly slow.

Castiel had never felt so frustrated in his life. He would have ground his teeth in frustration if he wasn’t so busy trying to keep himself from moaning in want. He fought to keep the paper in front of him, his eyes passing over the words. He made some sense of it, but if he was honest, he’d lost the thread of what was written there before Dean had opened his pants. The moment cool air hit his cock, he knew he was going to lose this game. That said, he wasn’t going to make it easy for the man either. Despite the trembling of his hand, he forced himself to follow the words on the page one at a time.

Behind him, he could practically feel Dean’s smirk and Cas didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. It felt so damn good, though. He thrust himself into Dean’s hand in time with the strokes even though he couldn’t seem to force the man to go any faster. The slow, steady pace Dean was providing still managed to build him up until he neared the breaking point. There was no hiding the way his chest heaved with each breath, particularly when Dean gave that little twist of his wrist with the end of every stroke. He had a death grip on the page before him, his eyes seeing it as nothing but blank paper. He trembled, the pressure building in his balls and then… nothing. Dean stopped. Castiel couldn’t stop himself from growling.

Dean’s lips returned to his ear. “Feeling a little more relaxed?”

“No.” If anything, he was carrying more tension because of how much he needed to come.

“Then I’ll try something else.” Dean took him by the wrist and shook it, willing him to drop the paper. Castiel didn’t do that so Dean clucked his tongue again and guided his hand down until the sheet of paper rested on the arm of the couch. “You hold on, now.” Dean moved his other arm to join the first and then began to push his hips up.

“What are you doing?” Castiel choked, immediately resisting the change of position because it seemed as if Dean was pushing him up onto his hands and knees.

“I told you I wanted to try something else.” Dean said reasonably as his hands tightened on Castiel’s hips and pulled them up. There was little he could do to resist the hunter. “Unless you can’t concentrate and want to join me.”

This time Castiel actually ground his teeth. There was no way in hell he was giving up now. “No, I’m fine. I’m sure I’ll find something any minute now.” To prove his point he redoubled his effort to understand the infernal paper in front of him. He had little choice but to do what Dean wanted. The moment he was on his knees, bracing forward onto the arm of the couch, Dean pulled his pants down to his knees, exposing his ass to the cool air. Dean’s hands were warm as they traced over the curve of the exposed flesh, kneading into it before pulling the cheeks apart. _I’m about to be fucked._ The thought occurred to him and while he was tempted to usurp control, he knew that to do so would be to let Dean win. He steeled himself for Dean to penetrate his body with his fingers. He truly wasn’t expecting what Dean did next.

Instead of a finger, his hole was assaulted with a soft, wet lathe of Dean’s tongue. “You bastard!” The curse burst out of Castiel’s mouth as a second lick set his arms to trembling. Pure, hot pleasure rolled over him throughout the onslaught. He was hard pressed to hold his hips still or to hold back the rough moans of pleasure that were leaking from his lips. Dean, curse him, took a moment to chuckle before he set to devouring Castiel as if he were starving. It was damn hard to keep himself upright as he was liberally tortured with delicious sensation until he was biting his lip to keep from begging Dean for more, his eyes staring down at the paper without seeing it. Once again, he found himself pulled closer and closer to orgasm, particularly when Dean started stroking his cock once more to add to the sinful things the hunter’s tongue was doing to his body. Of course, that was when Dean stopped again.

“Stay still.” He commanded, his hand lightly smacking Castiel’s ass as he strode back into the kitchen. He came back with the oil they’d used last night in his hands.

“Oh thank god.” The words burst from Castiel’s lips without any rational thought at all.

Dean chuckled again as he poured a bit of oil into his hands and slicked up his fingers. “Is your studying not going well?”

Remembering himself, Cas turned back to the paper and tried to understand any word written. “It’s going well Dean.”

“Alas, I’ve yet to distract you.” Dean ran a slick finger over his hole, up and then down.

Castiel shivered but was pleased when his voice came out steady. “Please, Dean, I’m a professional.”

The challenge tossed back at Dean drove him now, though his cock was throbbing against the confines of his pants, begging for attention. He pressed his free hand against the bulge to relieve the pressure before he settled in to rub tantalizing circles around Castiel’s tight rim. He waited until the man subtly pressed his hips back, forcing the concession from the other man before he pressed the digit in. Cas’s moan was a reward all to itself. He didn’t wait before he started to fuck his finger in and out of that tight heat. He wanted to believe he could go all night but the truth was he had to get the show on the road if he wanted to last any time at all. There was a moment there when he’d been licking Cas that he’d nearly come in his pants. He didn’t wait long at all before he added a second finger, knowing that it would create a slight burn. That was fine, Dean had the feeling that Cas liked it rough and he aimed to please. The way Cas slammed his hips back to fuck himself on Dean’s fingers told him that he was right. It wasn’t until he added the third finger that he truly began to thrust his fingers into Cas in earnest. He shifted the angle just enough to rub over the bundle of nerves that set the other man to cursing him once more. Dean found he liked hearing Castiel curse his name in the throes of passion.

“Now… dammit Dean, fuck me now!”

Dean looked up to find himself pinioned by a hot, blue eyed glower that would pierce a lesser man. Dean, however, simply gave Castiel a cheeky grin. “I do believe you are distracted.”

“Yes!” Cas grabbed the sleeve of Dean’s shirt and pulled him up, setting Dean off balance. “Take your dick out and fuck me. NOW.”

Dean wanted to take his time about it, he really did, but between the look in Cas’s eyes and the barked command, something deep inside of Dean made him scramble up onto his knees. Oily fingers scrabbled to get his pants open so he could withdraw his cock and slick it up. It was on the second stroke that he realized that Cas had tried to dominate and that calmed him back down. He grinned again as he lay his hand on top of Cas’s hip and used the other one to position his cockhead against the man’s hole. The moment he touched flesh, Castiel pressed back, trying to impale himself. Dean pulled his hips back.

“Tsk, tsk. This is my prize for distracting you. I’ll take it how I want it.” Dean slapped the side of Castiel’s ass once more, making the man growl but he subsided to stillness. Dean returned, once against nudging his cock against Cas’s rim then forced his way past it. His intentions had been to take it nice and slow but the moment he was enveloped in Cas’s tight heat, he simply lost his head. He slammed his hips forward, hilting himself in one swift motion. The moment his hips slapped into Castiel’s ass, he moaned his pleasure. The sound Cas made was close to a howl. Cas shifted forward and Dean pulled his hips back only to snap forward again, pounding his cock into Cas’s tight hole. Cas was meeting each thrust with the full force of his strength. His hips burned from the force of their bodies colliding, but he didn’t slow. Neither of them had the presence of mind to take it easy anymore.

As hard and fast as they were pushing each other, there was no way either of them would last long. Dean was already seeing stars but he refused to come first so he laid himself over Cas’s back, letting his teeth dig into the man’s shoulder while he reached around to grab Cas’s dick. He set to stroking it at the same mad pace they set for their bodies and in five full strokes, he felt the hot spray of come roll over his fingers as Castiel shouted with his release. Of course the man clenched around Dean’s dick when he came. Dean didn’t have even one brain cell left to curse him, not when his vision faded to black for a second with the force of his orgasm. He may or may not have screamed. He’s not exactly sure. When he came back to himself, he was laying over Castiel’s back, fully clothed, cock still inside of him. Cas had collapsed down on the couch with his pants around his knees and the paper he was ‘reading’ fallen to the floor.

“Holy shit, Cas.” Dean muttered as he tried to push himself up with arms that felt like gelatin.

“Holy shit indeed.” Cas grunted, his entire body looking loose and relaxed.

Dean finally rolled onto his side behind Cas, which necessitated wrapping an arm around him to keep him from falling off the couch. Both men took a good deal of time to stop panting. No one moved and for the moment, the case was completely forgotten.

Dean shifted first. “So…did you relax a bit?” He couldn’t keep the crooked smile from his face. Cas’s only reply was to hit him in the face with a pillow.


	8. Chapter 8

**November 19, 1888, 8:00 AM**

The Monday after Sister Hester's murder, all of London was abuzz with the news that Jack the Ripper had started killing nuns, and seemed to be through with prostitutes.  Of course, no one actually knew for sure if that was the case.  That is, until Sam Winchester found a package on his desk when he arrived that morning at the newspaper office.

This package was smaller than the others, and had an envelope attached to it which simply read "Mr. Sam Winchester."  It was written in the same handwriting and the same red ink as all of the other packages from Jack the Ripper.  As usual, there was no return address, and this time, there was no postmark either.

 He picked up the package and went immediately to his editor's office.  Sam ruled out Gabriel as a suspect on Friday night. This was because they had been together at the paper researching and discussing the case into the wee hours of the night.  Really, Sam had been investigating his boss, but when the nun was killed Sam was with Gabriel, effectively ending the reporter's investigation.  Of course, it didn't necessarily limit the "creepy" vibe Sam sometimes got from his boss...especially when he could feel Gabriel staring at his ass when he left a room. Or the jelly beans thing… seriously, did nothing put that man off his food?

 Sam didn't even bother knocking on Gabriel's office door.  He just strode in and thrust the package in Gabe's general direction.  "Did you see this?"

 Gabriel recognized the handwriting on the package as well.  "No.  Where did you find that?"

 "It was sitting on my desk."

 "How did it get there?" the editor asked, dumbfounded.

 "That's a good question," the reporter responded.

 "Well, open it already!"  Gabriel was getting impatient.  Without asking this time, he poured a glass of fine French wine for both himself and Sam.

 Sam opened the box first, and found a pair of disembodied blue eyes staring up at him.  Without thinking, he picked up the glass of wine and drank heavily from it.  "I think this is more disturbing than the kidney or uterus."

 Gabriel leaned over the desk to gaze into the box.  "I'm inclined to agree, Sammy."  Gabriel said as he grabbed a handful of his jelly beans and inhaled them with gusto.  "What does the letter say?"

 "Give me a chance to open it," Sam griped as he carefully opened the flap on the envelope.

  _Dear Mr. Winchester:_

_As you can "see," this Servant of the Lord will no longer be able to gaze upon the Angels.  Trust me when I assure you, she most definitely had it coming.  But she's not the only one, and I certainly will not stop with her.  I have discovered that I quite enjoy defiling these sweet Ladies of God much more so than those impure whores in Whitechapel._

_I'd wish you, your brother, and his detective ‘friend’ the best of luck in catching me, but I assure you, it would do you no good._

_Regards,_

_Jack the Ripper_

Sam and Gabriel just looked at each other for a moment after Sam finished reading.  Gabe was the first to speak up, putting his years of investigative journalism to good use.  "Well, Sam, what's the first thing you notice about this letter as opposed to the others?"

 "He comes across as much more educated this time," Sam answered easily.

 "And what does that tell you?" Gabriel prodded.

 "Before, he was trying to sound like most of the people who populate Whitechapel, poor and uneducated.  Clearly, he's not.  This most likely means," Sam was getting into it now, "that he doesn't actually live in Whitechapel.  He's probably well educated.  Possibly even a doctor like the police originally assumed."

 "Now you're getting somewhere, my boy!  You'd better get this to Scotland Yard before Novak accuses us of withholding evidence."

 "But not before making a mimeograph of the letter," Sam finished.

 Gabriel winked at him in affirmation as Sam hurried out the door.

 Since apparently Dean was working with Detective Novak, Sam figured there was no point in taking the box and note to Dean first. He made his way directly to Scotland Yard with no detours.  Since this wasn't the first time Sam had brought evidence to the police station during this case, the constable on duty at the front desk ushered Sam directly to Detective Novak's office.  When Sam reached the office, the only one there was Detective Bradbury.

 "Oh!" Sam exclaimed, surprised.  "I was looking for Detective Novak."

 "Yeah, he's been working from home a lot since Assistant Commissioner Singer assigned him to work with your brother," Charlie said before noticing the package in Sam's hand, "What's that?"

 "Another package and letter from Jack." Sam answered, turning slightly green.  "It's eyeballs this time."

 "Oh my.  Well, you may as well come with me, Winchester," Charlie responded with authority.

 "Come with you where?"  Sam asked suspiciously.

 Charlie rolled green eyes in response, "First, we're going to drop the eyeballs off with the coroner, and then we are going to take that letter to Cas's place so he and your brother can add it to the rest of the evidence that's illegally left the Yard."

 Sam was taken aback by Charlie’s statement, because while Dean might have been one to break the rules, Novak certainly wasn’t. How much influence did Dean now have with the detective? Squaring his shoulders, Sam had a feeling he was about to find out.

  **November 19, 1888, 11:00 AM**

Sam was about to knock hesitantly on the door of the detective's flat when Charlie turned the knob and barged right in. 

 "Sure, Charlie, come right in," Castiel said dryly from the kitchen table.

 "Oh, and you brought a 'friend'," Castiel continued, clearly unpleased at their arrival. It wasn’t as if he and the detective ever had gotten along. Sam, of course, liked Novak more than the rest of the Scotland Yard detectives, but he knew that the man considered him a threat to his investigations. Sam wondered if he’d ever get over that assumption.

 "You'll thank me later," Charlie assured him.  "Mr. Winchester the Gigantor received another package from the Ripper.  Eyeballs this time.  Don't worry, I gave them to Balthazar.  There was also a letter and I think you both should read it."

 By this time, Dean had risen from the table to greet his brother so Sam handed him the latest communication from their murderer. Dean read it in silence.  He didn't say a word, just returned to the kitchen and practically thrust the letter at Castiel.  Dean's angry face said more than his words could have.

 After reading it for himself, Cas's blue eyes grew to the size of saucers.  He looked from Dean to Charlie to Sam as if all the answers were written on their faces.  He found none.

 Sam was the first to break the heady silence.  "So...is it true? You are on the case now?"  He let the question hang in the air, looking hurt to have been left out of the loop.

 Dean, who had remained standing until his brother spoke, sank heavily into the chair next to Cas, and rested his elbows on the table.  "Yes, it's true."  After several beats, he finally looked up at his baby brother, his green eyes imploring.  "Is that a problem for you?"

 "Of course not, Dean. I just wish you’d told me." Sam responded reasonably.

 Startling everyone with the suddenness of the movement, Castiel slammed his hands against the kitchen table.  "How the _fuck_ does he know about...about...this?!? This was a secret within the department!”  He stood up and gestured between himself and Dean to emphasize his point.

 Castiel was more than just a little spooked, he felt threatened, which he supposed was exactly what the Ripper wanted. He was toying with them. His jaw tightened as he considered the possibility. He did _not_ like being threatened. If anything, it made him more determined to catch the man.

 "Demons," Dean responded in answer to the question.  "Demons somehow just _know_ things.  The common theory is that they can read minds.  Which means we've been close enough to this thing for it read our minds."

 Castiel was drawn up short by this answer and for a moment could only gape at Dean. Demons were well beyond his area of expertise. Despite what Singer had told him, he’d still been working on the principle that this thing was still a man and had been leaving the more esoteric explanations to Dean. “I suppose this explains the upside down cross in Sister Hester’s room.”

 Sam shifted in the room, pulling a chair out from the table and sitting across from Dean. “That would explain the sheer violence of the murders, but why the focus on prostitutes first? It’s not like a demon to kill discriminately.”

 Dean shook his head. “Damned if I know.”

 Charlie took the remaining seat at the table, waving a hand over the pictures that littered the surface. “Easy pickings. That’s why a lot of murderers choose prostitutes, they are out after dark, tend to haunt dark alleyways for warmth, and are often alone.”

 Considering this, Castiel flipped through the piles of paper. “But would a demon do that? Couldn’t it just take anyone it wanted?”

 “Demons are sick fucks.” Dean shrugged, picking up a hazy picture of the unfortunate Ruby. “They kill for fun alone. Cas is right though, there’s not usually a pattern to it beyond the violence.”

 “This one seems to have direction. What for?” Sam cut in, picking up another picture of Ruby, and then dropping it back down with a wince.

 “The answer may help us find the thing,” Charlie pointed out, already thinking through the puzzle.

 “If we find it, how do we stop it?” Castiel looked directly to Dean for the answer.

 “You exorcise it. A demon needs a body to possess. We find the body, we can send the thing packing back to hell.” Dean’s eyes didn’t flinch from his but the hunter’s face was full of apology.

 Castiel unclenched his jaw and nodded. This wasn’t Dean’s fault. “So, we continue to investigate what this thing’s motive is.”

 “I’ll go over the evidence again and see if I can find something else with the new spin,” Charlie piped up immediately, eyes gleaming with challenge.

 “I can help,” Sam said with hunched shoulders. He sounded resigned and bristled when Dean gave him a shocked look. “The sooner we get rid of this thing, the sooner I can go back to my life.”

 “I can’t condone…” Castiel began, already panicking about what Sam could publish in the paper with inside knowledge of the case.

 “Look, I won’t put any of this in print. The more it knows, the harder it will be to catch. I’m not stupid,” Sam said, frustration coloring his voice.

 “Look Cas, we need Sammy. He knows these things, same as I do. We were raised to this life.” Dean touched his knee under the table and Castiel let the tension run out of his shoulders. He trusted Dean.

 “Fine. Four pairs of eyes may be the difference we need.” Castiel said, coming to agreement with the others. “Let’s begin.”

 The room plunged in silence as Sam pulled his chair closer to Charlie’s and the two began to talk softly about the things Charlie had found at each scene. Cas turned back to Dean.

 Dean sighed. “Let’s go back over the pictures and diagrams. This time I’ll look for demonic omens.”

 Castiel had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.

**November 27, 1888, 2:00 PM**

With a new twist to the case, the demon angle; there was initially a lot of energy that was poured into investigating the new lead. They’d gone over the evidence once more and while they hadn’t found much, there were little hints here and there that Dean and Sam had found. After that, they’d gone back over the witness list and had divided it in half after eliminating those the Winchesters had already spoken to. Castiel had gone with Dean for those interviews and had discovered the hunter was pretty good at talking to people. They made a good investigative pair because of that. On the other hand, being with Dean was distracting (Castiel had seen him naked and on his cock), which made him miss Charlie a little bit. That had never been a problem with her.

There was an urgency to their investigation now; there always had been but Sister Hester’s murder had happened closer to Ruby’s murder than the previous ones had. It seemed that the murderer was moving them closer together as well as changing his victim pool. It made it harder to establish a pattern.

Despite the energy and extra hands, they found very little that could lead them to the demon. Another murder had occurred on November 22 around 2:00 AM. Another nun, Sister Rachel had been killed in her room at the Abbey, just as Sister Hester had been. Rachel had been killed like the others, her throat slashed and her body opened. The scene was even bloodier than the prior ones, this time with blood smeared on the walls and the window as well as pooled on the bed and the floor beneath. Once again, the cross above her bed was turned upside down. Her organs were arranged around her head in some form of a grisly halo, and this time her uterus was missing as in some of the earlier deaths. It had turned up later on Sam Winchester’s desk some four days later along with another note written in red ink. Sam had brought it to them directly after giving the organ to Balthazar.

 

_Dear Sam,_

_May I call you Sam?  I believe it is appropriate, seeing as we've become such good friends.  I have to admit, I am a great admirer of your work, and I have no doubt you admire mine as well.  Please accept this gift as but a small token of my friendship._

_As you can see, this empty womb was unscathed by my knife.  It will please you to know that it was also unsullied by man.  This Habit was a true Virgin for God.  Alas, no more.  Now she will rot with the other whores I have disposed of._

_Always,_

_Your Dear Friend,_

_Saucy Jacky_

 

It was clear that the man was toying with them, especially Sam. None of them could tell why this was, only that he consistently sent his mad scribblings to the journalist. Charlie thought that maybe the murderer liked Sam’s articles in the paper and had singled him out because of his writing style. 

That letter had come on a Monday and much to their dismay, the next murder occurred the next day. Today. Castiel was bone tired from investigating the scene of Sister Hannah’s death. His stomach was queasy and his eyes heavy. He’d known Sister Hannah. She had been a woman with a soft voice and warm blue eyes, but more importantly, she’d been a particular friend of his sister Anna. He’d not wanted to see her torn apart so violently, nor did he want to consider how close to home these deaths were getting.

Sister Hannah had been found on the floor of her room, half in the hallway unlike Rachel and Hester, who’d both been in bed. It looked as if she’d walked into her room from the hallway, had seen the killer in her room, and had tried to run from him. Her throat had been cut so deeply that she’d nearly been decapitated. Her skin had been peeled from her legs and her abdomen before she’d been ripped open and her organs removed. One of her arms was lying over her chest, pointed up to the cavity where her heart had been. They hadn’t found it at the scene but if Castiel was honest, he hadn’t been looking. He’d wait for the report from Balthazar to come. The cross from above her bed was laying underneath her other hand, turned upside down like all the rest.

At the moment, Castiel was sitting at his desk and staring at the wood while behind him Dean and Charlie’s voices hummed. He had tuned out what they were talking about and studiously tried to not to think about Anna. He’d been trying to convince her to come stay with him since the murders began but she’d staunchly refused. She said the angels would protect her and God’s will would be done. A knock on the door brought him out of his reverie.

A bobby opened the door, looking apologetic. He handed a slip of paper to Castiel and hurried away.

With the other two looking on, he unfolded the note to see familiar handwriting.

_Castiel,_

_Come talk to me._

_Anna_

Maybe she’d decided to take up his offer now that her friend was dead. He rose from his desk.

“I have to go.”

Dean moved to take his coat from the coat rack. “Alright, I’m ready.”

Castiel sighed, his expression softening. He laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, hoping the man understood the gesture of silent gratitude for the support. He could tell by their expressions that both Dean and Charlie were worried about him.

“Thank you, Dean but I should go alone. Anna wants to talk.”

Dean nodded and left his coat on the rack. “Okay. Maybe she’ll come home with you.” Dean understood Castiel’s fears and shared them. It was a feature of the man that made Cas think he could easily fall in love.

“That is my hope. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He secured his woolen long coat around his body and picked up his scarf, hat, and gloves.

Charlie went to her desk, dragging Dean with her. “We’ll be going over what we got from Hannah’s room. Hopefully Balthazar will be by today.”

Castiel gave her a nod before he left the office. It took him little time to catch a hackney and direct it to the Abbey in Whitechapel. The sisters there lived to help the poor but it seemed the poor location had risen up to swallow them whole. He could only hope that they could catch the madman… or demon, before they were all dead.

The Abbey was a place of peace, its lawn quiet and covered in unblemished snow. Before the door, Anna stood in her black and white habit, a lone figure on the white landscape. He paid the hackney coach and asked him to wait, then walked down the snow covered pathway to the door.

“Anna, let’s go inside.” He gestured to the doorway. His sister was not wearing either coat or cloak against the cold. Her nose was already red.

She shook her head. “No. Walk with me, brother.” He took her arm and followed when she led him away from the Abbey itself and into the park next to it. The path they followed was lined with statues of religious figures. They passed Jesus with his arms spread and then Mary, Our Lady of the Sacred Heart. Castiel stopped short as he realized that the statue was gesturing at her heart the way that Hannah had been. He turned wild eyes on Anna, who simply nodded.

“I heard the angels talking about that. They were very angry that the image of the Virgin had been perverted that way.” Anna’s voice was soft so it didn’t carry but enough that Castiel heard it.

Castiel was tugged by the arm and led to a bench. Anna waited for him to brush the snow off and then sat down. Castiel followed suit. He had a thousand questions to ask Anna, but experience told him that she would only tell him what she wanted to and that would come in her own time.

She sighed and pulled off her headdress. Her red hair was vibrant in their small world carved of white. “The angels are unhappy but worse, they are afraid.” She looked at her hands.

“Afraid of what, Anna?” He couldn’t quite stop the question.

“The Ripper, though they do not call him that.” She looked up at him, her expression tight and her blue eyes worried. “They call him Heretic. I do not know why. They say he is close at hand and his day of reckoning is coming.”

The thought of the killer being near to Anna froze his chest in terror. He took her hand and held it. He noted how cold her fingers were. “Come home with me. It won’t be forever just until this is over. Surely the angels do not want you to risk your life, Anna. You are special.”

Her expression was soft as she squeezed his fingers. “All things have a time and a place, Castiel. My place is here. The good I will do, it’s here. I can’t leave.”

“Anna…” She pressed a finger over his lips to shush him.

“The angels wanted me to tell you what they said to me. They think you will find him.” She stood and tugged him up too. “All will be well. You will see.”

Helpless, Castiel followed her back to the Abbey. When they arrived at the door, she stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. As she hugged him, she whispered in his ear. “Of all my brothers, you are the dearest.” When she stood back, she shared a tiny smile with him then disappeared through the door of the Abbey.

With hunched shoulders, he returned to the hackney and went back to his office. When he arrived, Sam was there with Dean and Charlie. Another letter had been delivered that afternoon to Sam and all three were pouring over the note.

_Dearest Sam,_

_I hope you appreciate these gifts.  I have quite the feeling you prefer these nuns over those whores from before.  I don’t require your approval, of course.  I just enjoy giving something back to you, since you have given so much to me through your newspaper articles.  Please continue to regale the public with stories of my immense prowess._

_Of course, this note does not come to you empty handed.  I think this is my greatest gift to you.  Sister Hannah always had a good heart._

_Sincerely Yours,_

_The Ripper_


	9. Chapter 9

**December 1, 1888, 4:00 AM**

The wild banging on his door had found Dean and Cas both curled into his bed. They had both been extremely frustrated by their lack of progress and had ultimately been aware that they didn’t have much time until the next murder. They’d sniped at each other through dinner and after as they went over the facts of Hannah’s death again, until Dean had finally gotten angry. He’d pushed Cas off the couch and had fucked him hard into the living room floor; a process that had caused bruises to bloom across Castiel’s hips and back. Not one to be dominated completely, Castiel had returned the favor in his bedroom, and now Dean’s chest and shoulders were littered with bite marks. Both had gone to sleep knowing that they’d have sore asses in the morning.

Neither had expected to be roused from bed that night, though it shouldn’t surprise them. This had been a way of life since that night in August when Becky had been killed. Dread seized Castiel as he jammed his legs into his pants and bade Dean to stay. The man at the door was a bobby and told him with a brusque voice that there had been another murder and he should go to the Abbey.

When he closed the door, Dean came out, fully dressed already. “There’s been another one.”

“Yes.”

In no time at all, he had dressed and then they had bundled up against the cold and hailed a hackney to the Abbey. The scene was already swarming with police. The smell of blood was thick in the air when he walked into the hallway of the cloister where the nuns stayed. He should have been used to it, but it turned his stomach. Before he could take a step, Charlie scurried down the hall and pushed against his chest.

“Stay here.” She said firmly, her eyes pleading.

Wild terror such that he’d never known flooded over him. There was only one reason for Charlie to hold him back. “Anna!”  He surged forward, pushing back against Charlie, who stumbled back several paces and would have fallen if an officer hadn’t caught her. Then strong arms wrapped around his chest and pulled him back roughly. He collided with a solid human body behind him. Dean.

“No, Cas. Stay here.” Dean’s voice was soft in his ear. It was tight, as if through clenched teeth.

Castiel didn’t care. He had to get to his sister. He had to protect her… to save her. Somewhere he knew it was too late and didn’t care. Growling, he started to fight, his fingers digging into Dean’s arms. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something, tear something apart.  He needed to get to Anna.

“Let me go! Dean! Let me through!”  He tried again, this time as he dug into Dean’s arms he kicked backwards at his legs. He felt Dean stumble. He twisted, forcing himself against Dean’s arms with all his strength and won his way free.  He made it two steps before Dean dove on him, forcing him to the floor, but worse, the entire room exploded around them, the bobbies that lined the room springing into action. He thought that they would fight for him, pull Dean off, but no, they didn’t. The men grabbed him in rough hands and dragged him to his feet, pushing him towards the door. He went screaming and fighting. Through it all, Dean was with him; even as Castiel still struggled at the door. The man was bigger than Castiel, his arms stronger. He wasn’t getting through. The way Dean’s arms crushed around his chest made it hard to breathe. His vision tilted and swayed, his head fuzzy as he came close to losing consciousness. He sagged in Dean’s arms.

“Please…” Castiel whispered, though it was unclear if he was begging Dean to let him go or God to have protected Anna. He was aware that Dean was pulling him out of the hallway where the scent of blood, _Anna’s_ blood, was so thick in the air that he thought he was choking on it. He drew a deep breath the minute they were outside of the Abbey. The air was so cold that it burned his sinuses going in. He turned to Dean immediately.

“Please, Dean. Please, let me go. She’s my sister, my Anna.” He knew he was babbling and he couldn’t stop. He didn’t care. Anna was dead. She was gone.

“I know, Cas. I know.” There was pain in Dean’s eyes and he looked devastated. For a moment, Castiel couldn’t understand why. It dawned on him slowly. Dean was hurting because he was hurting. Dean understood but would not let him go.

“Dean… please. Please…” There was no pride left. Tears spilled over his lashes and down his cheeks. Dean pulled him further away, into the shadows of the building next to the park where Castiel had spoken to Anna just days ago. “She said she would be safe.” His voice was thick with tears. “She said all would be well.”

Dean pulled him fully into his arms now that they were alone and out of sight. His lips brushed over Castiel’s cheeks. He felt Dean’s fingers flex against his back, holding him in by his coat. “Shh, Cas. Nothing is alright. I know.”

Castiel gave himself to the sobs that had been threatening to overtake him. Dean was a brother, he knew. He knew how deeply this failure went, how great his failure was. Anna was gone. He’d never see her, hear her ever again. Dean was right. Nothing was alright.

Dean had never felt more useless in his life. He was well aware of how worried Cas was about Anna and how he’d grown more concerned with each murder at the Abbey. The moment he’d seen Charlie, he’d known that Anna was the victim. His stomach twisted and he tasted something bitter on his tongue as he’d wrapped his arms around his lover in the guise of holding him back. He’d had a brief thought of how he’d feel about seeing Sam torn apart and after he fought back the need to vomit, he resolved himself to get Cas the hell out of there. He’d expected Cas to fight. In fact, he wasn’t surprised when his lip was split and his eye blackened in the struggle.

What he hadn’t been prepared for was the begging. The first ‘Please’ had nearly broken his heart and it had only gotten worse as he watched Cas’s blue eyes shimmer with tears then those tears spilled over. He could only imagine how bad it would feel if Sammy had died and knew that Cas was feeling that now, that something inside of him broke that could never be fixed. As he dragged Cas away from the Abbey and into the shadow of the building, he only knew that they had to get away, to hide from the bustle of bodies going about the grim work of the police. Once they were in the shadows of the garden he could pull Cas fully against him and offer what little solace he could.

Dean knew that it was cold comfort; that nothing would bring Anna back to them. All he could do was hold the detective as he cried, kissing the top of his head and murmuring words that he knew wouldn’t help.

Dean felt helpless. He hated being helpless. He wanted to catch the killer and pull him apart limb by limb the way the victims had been torn. He wanted to leave the man alive and screaming as he did so. These thoughts wouldn’t help Cas though so he pushed them away and focused more on the man in his arms, the man who already owned more of Dean than he cared to admit. He was finding that when Cas hurt, he hurt too.

The moment they had alone ended all too soon. Dean pulled out of the comforting embrace when they heard footsteps crunching in the snow.  Castiel looked up to see who was approaching. “Father,” he acknowledged his voice thick with tears.

The Father stepped just into the shadow with them and put a comforting hand on Castiel’s shoulder.  He pushed his wire rimmed glasses up on his nose and ran his other hand through his short blonde hair.  His own blue eyes mirrored the tears that were still in Castiel’s eyes.  “Castiel, my son,” the Father had to catch his breath before he started weeping again.  “I know how close you and Anna are – were.  I am SO sorry.  It was my responsibility to keep her safe.  To keep them all safe.”  He removed his hand from Castiel’s shoulder, removed his glasses, and covered his face in his hands as he started weeping openly. 

It was Cas’s turn to put a hand on the Father’s shoulder.  “I’m sure you did all you could,” he said tightly.

The Father looked up at him once again.  “Anna, she was very special.  She had a special gift.  Why did that monster have to take her?”

“It’s interesting that you use that word, Padre.”  Dean finally spoke up.

“What other word would you use to describe someone who could commit these atrocities to these poor women?” the Father responded, a bit incredulous.

“Monster is a good word,” Dean agreed.

The Father looked at Castiel once again.  “Please, if you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”  With that, he walked away. Castiel could see a speculative look on Dean’s face as the man left.

Silence fell over both of them after the Father left. Dean shifted closer to him, taking his hand gently. Castiel appreciated the gesture. He knew Dean was trying to ease his pain and when he looked at the man, he could also see that Dean knew he couldn’t. Strangely, the depth of that understanding meant the world to him. Still, there was something more important.

Castiel reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and began to wipe away tears. “Go.” Dean looked hurt for a second, and then the expression was gone in a flash. Castiel realized that he needed to clarify. “I can’t go, Dean. I can’t investigate her death the way it needs to be. I need you to…. To go find what you can find.” Tears threatened to spill over his lashes again so he blinked them back. “Please.”

Dean nodded and drew Cas back into his arms. “I’ll give it my all, Cas.” When he pulled back, his expression was stern. “But I’m sending someone to be with you. Either Sam or Charlie.”

“Sam.” Castiel decided. He didn’t know the reporter well and Charlie would bring more comfort, but he needed her on the scene. For Anna. “You keep Charlie. She’ll find everything I would… if I could be there.”

Dean nodded and together they walked out of the shadows and quickly found Sam among the crowd. Standing back with the other nuns, Castiel endured the many touches and prayers and tears of the sisters with Sam at his back. Strangely, he did find comfort in Dean’s brother being with him. Sam never said a word as Castiel’s came and went, he always patted his back awkwardly. It was enough to remind him that he wasn’t alone. Together they stood and watched the Abbey until morning came.

**December 3, 1888, 8:00 AM**

Like clockwork, the letter appeared on Sam’s desk bright and early Monday morning. He saw the paper wrapped parcel and the letter balanced on top and knew exactly what it was. Well, not the content of the box, but it was almost certainly a body part from the Ripper. A piece of Anna. That he had a frame of reference for the victim drove a shiver down his spine. He was heartily getting tired of being the object of the Ripper’s attention, however, he was also sure that something in these parcels would lead them to the man.

Normally he would take the box into Gabriel’s office but for once the door was closed and the man seemed to be talking to Meg about something. So Sam took care of it himself. He pulled open the letter and read the familiar red ink.

_Oh Sam._

_Sam.  Sam.  Sam.  Sam.  Sam._

_You and your little merry band of hunters think you can stop me.  I don’t want to be stopped, and I won’t.  Taking that whore nun’s tongue was quite satisfying.  She will no longer be speaking to the angels.  The fact that she was that detective’s sister made the kill all that much better!  I’m sure he found a great deal of comfort in your brother’s arms…and his bed._

_Catch me if you can!_

_Your friend,_

_Jack_

Now that he knew it was Anna’s tongue, he didn’t need to open the box but he did so anyway. It was a tongue, just as the Ripper promised. Sighing, he closed the box and turned back to the letter. If this was true, giving it over to Gabriel might end in it being published and that would end Castiel’s career and destroy both of their reputations. He couldn’t let that happen. Quickly Sam tucked the letter in his pocket and vowed to talk to Dean about it before he turned it over to Charlie. Castiel didn’t need to see it.

So, Sam left to give the tongue to Balthazar and then he went to find Dean. Dean was with Castiel, and the detective still looked drawn and vacant. Sam would wait until he could catch Dean alone, then they would talk. After all, he had it and could examine it for clues just as well as they could.

Over the next few days, Sam looked for an opportunity to catch Dean alone but none presented itself. If one thing was certain, Dean was concerned for Castiel’s well-being above all else. Sam had to consider that what the Ripper accused was indeed true.

**December 5, 1888, 7:00 PM**

Dean had been at Castiel’s side day and night since the night of Anna’s murder. That wasn’t too odd because Dean had started sleeping at Castiel’s place after they first had sex and now they worked together, but lately it seemed more than that. Cas had flung himself into work whole heartedly so he didn’t have to think of Anna. Dean was there to make sure he ate meals and went to bed. When he didn’t think he could sleep, Dean would pull him against his chest and into his arms and sleep would pull Castiel down almost immediately.

He was grateful and a little surprised to be treated so gently by the man, but there were times when he wanted, no needed, a few minutes to himself. That evening after dinner, Dean had wanted to go follow some leads around the Abbey and had left him to his own devices. Breathing a deep sigh as he watched the hunter vanish down the street outside of his flat, Cas tossed himself down on the couch. He should have been looking over the case files again but there seemed little use in it. All of the details of Anna’s murder had been withheld and Charlie had Anna’s files under lock and key at her place. That hadn’t stopped Castiel from finding them out, of course. Balthazar had told him and had let Castiel see her after he’d finished the autopsy. Unlike the last few victims, the killer had left her face alone so she had been pale and beautiful still on the table, the rest of her body covered in the white drape and hiding it from view. After he read the report and learned how badly the rest of her body had been savaged, he was thankful. The bastard had taken her tongue when he’d killed her.

He tried not to focus on the details that everyone tried to protect him from, but they came to him in odd moments. Moments like this one, where he sat on his couch in the silence of his apartment and tried not to think about it. The world had seemed surreal since Anna had died, and while he tried to force himself to remain part of it, that had been hard.  He scrubbed a hand through his hair and stared at the far wall, trying to will himself to move and to do something useful.

That’s how Charlie found him nearly twenty minutes later when she pushed open the door and walked through. She smiled and hung up her coat and her hat near the door, then crossed to the couch where he sat. “Good evening, Cas.” Even she had started calling him by Dean’s nickname.

“Is there a problem, Charlie? Please tell me there hasn’t been another one.”

“No, there hasn’t,” she affirmed before leaning forward and neatly gathering up all the papers from the coffee table and piling them into a neat stack, then tucking them back into the folio where they’d come from. “I’ve come to force you to do something other than work.”

“Charlie, I’m fine,” Castiel protested and she pulled him off of the couch and led him down the hall.

“No, you aren’t fine. The Ripper got your sister and he did it to hurt you.” Charlie turned; fixing him with a green eyed stared. How strange that her eyes were the same color as Dean’s. “We can’t let him win. He wanted to put you out of balance. He’s either toying with you or he fears you. Either way, we need to get you put back together somehow.”

Castiel sighed as she started to lead him back to the bedroom again. “How do you propose to do that? We can’t bring Anna back.”

“No, we can’t. But life goes on and we still need you, Cas.” She paused in front of his bedroom door. “Now, we are going to spend time together as friends and do something you like. First, you are going to take off your work suit and put on some comfortable clothes.” She pushed the bedroom door open.

Castiel hadn’t considered the state his room was in before he let her go in there. Now he thought he should have done so. The bed was rumpled with the sheets peeled back; two pillows were side by side and clearly used. Deans clothing was stacked up on Castiel’s dresser, his coats hanging in Castiel’s closet.  In fact, the entire room made Dean’s presence known.  He winced and looked at Charlie.

Charlie looked at him, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Is there something you want to tell me about Dean?”

He sighed. “Dean is my lover.”

She punched him on the shoulder. “For how long? Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I’m sorry Charlie. With everything going on it seemed… inappropriate.” Castiel’s eyes went to the floor, his shoulders hunching. “We… the night Anna died…we were together.”

“Oh Cas.” Charlie pulled him into a backbreaking hug. “You know that you are allowed to have a life, even in the middle of an investigation.”

He shook his head.  “I should have been…”

“What? Standing outside her room for days on days?” Charlie glared at him, pushing him into his room before turning off to poke through his clothing. “That’s ridiculous! Look Cas, Anna died because that madman wanted to hurt you. We couldn’t have stopped him.” She flung a well-worn pair of pants and a linen shirt at him. Both were extremely comfortable. She certainly knew him well. “Get dressed.”

Castiel nodded and did what she said. He didn’t argue with her any further, though he didn’t truly believe her. At the end of the day, Anna died because she was his sister. It was his fault and he should have protected her. Maybe though… maybe she was right about Dean. Dean had been nothing but a comfort to him.

Charlie watched him change then dragged him back into the living room, where she poured them both some whiskey and laid out the chess board. Again, chess was something Castiel loved. He balked at first, but the act of moving the pieces and sinking into the strategy of the game gave him comfort.

“I’m glad you have Dean.” Charlie said, breaking the silence about halfway through the game. “I might have met someone too.” The game continued and Charlie told him all about Jo and the budding relationship between the two. For the short space of time, Castiel allowed himself to have this; the comfort of a friend and the familiarity of life.

**December 7, 1888, 10:00 AM**

Dean was sure he was missing something. After Anna had died, he had rechecked the facts, had ridden Sam’s ass about the research, and had even consulted his father’s journal about demons but something didn’t add up to him. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch; a constant buzz under his skin that told him that he was missing something. As Cas seemed more and more solid after Anna’s death, Dean had started roaming a little more frequently. He checked dive bars and talked with beggars and urchins, looking for even the smallest shred of evidence. Nothing. He found nothing at all to give him a hint one way or another.

When Dean had told Cas that they were missing something, the man had simply agreed. That had been a couple of days ago. Today Dean was at Cas’s house alone, searching through the pictures once again. Cas had gone into the office to speak with Commissioner Turner and had promised to return shortly after. He hadn’t expected the detective to come barging in the door with a wild look in his eyes.

“We have been missing something!” He exclaimed as he slammed his hands down on the table in front of Dean.

“What?” Dean tossed aside the picture he was looking at. “We’ve been over this stuff a million times already.”

“The Abbey.” Cas sifted through the papers on the table until he came up with a map of the Abbey building, then a map of the Whitechapel neighborhood. “When I spoke to Anna last, she told me that the angels said the killer was close.”

Dean looked at the two maps, then back into Cas’s face. “You think the killer is somewhere close to the Abbey?” He didn’t touch the thing about Anna talking to angels; Dean had thought it strange, but hell, he hunted monsters for a living. Maybe Anna did talk to angels.

“Anna said that the angels called the murderer a heretic. Doesn’t that sound like someone who is affiliated with faith but turning from it?”

“Yeah, you are right.” Dean picked up the map and frowned at it, tracing his fingers over the rooms that make up the cloister. “So, that most likely narrows it down to Father Luke, the groundskeeper, or the janitor.  It’s unlikely one of the parishioners.” Dean theorized.

“What makes you think it’s one of those three people, Dean?” Cas asked, tilting his head and squinting his eyes at the other man.

“Those are the only men with access to the Abbey,” Dean stated, because that seemed reasonable to him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean.  We have no definitive proof as to the gender of the killer,” Cas protested.  “If it is a demon, wouldn’t it be indifferent to gender?  Even if not, women are just as capable as men.  Just look at your friend Jo, or Charlie.  Do you think they are incapable just because they are women?”

Dean only latched on to one thing Cas had said.  “Charlie, um, Detective Bradbury is a woman?”

Castiel just huffed and rolled his eyes, as if this should have been obvious to Dean.  Maybe it should have, after their run-in in that alley in Whitechapel that night that felt like a lifetime ago. “Ah… well, good to know.”

Castiel nodded. “I suppose so, she knows we are lovers.”

Dean choked on this. “When? How?”

“I told her.” There was no shame in the detective’s answer. Noticing Dean’s discomfort, he leaned in and kissed his forehead. Dean closed his eyes and savored the touch. “There’s no harm in Charlie. She’d go to her grave to protect me, just as I would for her. Besides, she’s much the same or haven’t you noticed how close she and Jo are becoming?”

Dean blinked. “Oh. _Ohhhhhh._ ” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Jo was practically his little sister.

Cas pulled back his chair. “Come on, Dean. Get your coat. Time’s wasting!”

“Huh? Where are we going?” Dean found himself dumped out of the chair, which sent him staggering towards the coat rack.

“The Abbey. “ Castiel rolled his eyes as if this should have been obvious.

Dean would have taken exception, however this is the most animated his lover had been since Anna’s death. He decided to just roll with it. “Let’s go.”


	10. Chapter 10

 

**December 13, 1888, 1:00 AM**

This was the earliest the Ripper had ever struck. Dean had been shocked when the pounding on their door started because they had just barely gone to bed and neither of them had been asleep. He’d not had sex with Castiel since Anna had died but Dean understood that; the detective clearly felt guilty they’d done so that night. Before this, Dean would have considered things over, but there was nothing normal about what the two of them had together. He found that all he wanted to do now was hold Cas and take away his pain. That’s what he’d been doing when the knock drove them out of bed, holding Cas tightly while neither of them slept.

It felt like they were all holding their breath. The days had stretched since the last murder and some theorized that the Ripper had his fill and would stop now. None of the investigative team believed that was true. The time between murders was just another way the monster could toy with them. It seemed that the waiting was now over. While Castiel went to get the door, Dean heaved himself out of bed, wondering what horror awaited them tonight.

“It’s happened again.” Cas’s voice was quiet from the door.

Dean turned. He wanted to curse the demon doing this; Cas had been doing better by the day and was close to being himself again. Dean hoped that this wouldn’t affect him so deeply. “I thought as much.” He reached into the closet and handed Castiel a clean shirt. Both men were clearly exhausted and wondering if this madness would ever end.

It wasn’t until Castiel gave the address to the hack driver that Dean realized that something was amiss. He froze because the name of the street and the number were familiar. Too familiar. _Maybe it’s not…you haven’t talked to her in years. Perhaps she moved._ Dean tried to believe his thoughts as the coach moved, however, he could feel the cold weight of dread settle into his stomach. If it was true, he knew he would never be the same.

The house they rolled up to was as familiar to him as his hands were. He’d been there a thousand times before, had once dreamed that he’d live there and start a family, if only he hadn’t been who he was. It was Lisa’s house. The home left to her when her husband had died and made her a widow. It was the house where she raised her small son, Ben, alone. It wasn’t in Whitechapel. The neighborhood wasn’t wealthy, but it was respectable and clean. Outside the house, Lisa’s elderly neighbor stood talking to a bobby while she sobbed.

Feeling numb, Dean climbed down and followed Cas to the stoop and then inside the small house. The scent of death surrounded him the moment he stepped inside. The first thing he saw was the blood. There were more than just smears on the wall, it looked like portions of it had been painted in blood, wide swaths of red coated the window, the door, the furniture. How did the human body contain so much?

He saw Lisa next. Her face was untouched, as Anna’s had been. She was beautiful in death, her eyes wide and unseeing, her face frozen in terror. Her throat had been cut like all the rest. It took him a moment to realize that this time the neck had been cut through and her head was no longer attached. His stomach churned. He stood frozen at the door, staring at the rest of the mess, the ruined body of a woman he’d once loved. A woman he’d left in order to protect. It seemed that had not been enough. Death had found her anyway. His fault.

Cas noticed first. “Dean? Are you alright?”

“Lisa.” Her name left his lips, even though he felt unworthy of ever speaking it again.

Realizing that Dean knew the victim, Cas practically tackled him, forcing him out the door. “You knew her? Damnation! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dean could see the anguish on Castiel’s face and he knew that his current lover would have spared him the pain. Dean shook his head. He didn’t know why he didn’t say. Perhaps it was due to his belief that he deserved the shock and pain of what he was seeing. He’d broken her heart when he’d left.

“Who was she?” Cas’s voice was soft and understanding as he moved Dean further from the door. Dean didn’t resist.

“I… was going to marry her.” With the stricken look on Cas’s face, Dean went on. “Years ago, Cas. I couldn’t stay with her. It was too dangerous. She was attacked. She has a …” That’s when it dawned on him. “Ben!” Dean pushed past Cas and barreled back inside, this time pounding up the narrow staircase that went to the bedrooms. He rushed to the small bedroom off the stairs and burst into the room. The bed was empty. If Dean had been afraid for Lisa, he was terrified for Ben.

“Ben?” He fought to keep his voice calm and normal. The boards creaked under his feet in the silent bedroom. “It’s Dean.” There was silence and then the subtle whisper of a body shifting.

The closet door cracked open. “Dean?”

“Yeah, Buddy. It’s Dean.” He approached slowly and was almost halfway there when the door burst open and a small body collided with his own. He couldn’t see Ben fully in the dark, however, he could hear the sniffles of a crying child. He picked the eight year old up and marveled at how heavy the child had become in the intervening years. He considered it lucky that Ben remembered him.

He turned and found Cas watching from the door. Once again, the detective’s face was troubled and more than a little angry. “She had a child.”

Dean nodded, his hands smoothing over Ben’s hair.

Ben was hiding his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. “I heard Mom scream and I hid. Is she…okay?”

“No.” Dean wouldn’t lie to boy even though he wanted to. “She’s gone.”

“Gone?” New tears were shed. “Where did she go?”

“Heaven.” Castiel’s voice was gentle as he stepped in the room.

Dean supposed it was the nicest thing that Cas could have said. Lisa had been the sort to go to church so likely Ben would understand this.

“Why?” The boy looked up at the newcomer, apparently feeling safe in Dean’s arms. “Why would she leave me?”

“Sometimes, when people are too hurt, they have to go away. They don’t want to, but their bodies simply can’t go on.” Dean was surprised that Cas was somewhat good at this, being a bachelor, but then, he was a detective. The man must have experience telling families that someone had died.

“Who hurt her?”

“I’m a Detective,” Castiel told him. “We are going to find who hurt your Mom and make sure he faces justice for it.”

“I’m helping him. Between the two of us, we will find them.” Dean added and was relieved when Ben nodded. He wasn’t sure himself if they would ever catch this freak, but he had to hope. At least, he was trying to find that hope. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Ben sniffled again. “Where will I go?”

Dean was lost for a moment, then an idea formed. “I’ve got a good friend who can give you a place to stay. She’s real nice. You’ll like her.” Ellen wouldn’t hesitate to take the child in.

Cas looked relieved that Dean knew what to do with the boy. The Detective shrugged off his jacket and stepped abreast of them. “We are going to cover you up to take you out, Ben. I want you to close your eyes tight and lean on Dean.”

The boy nodded as Cas put his jacket over Ben’s head, making sure there was no way that he could see, then nodded to Dean. Together they went down the stairs and out of the house. Dean didn’t look at what was left of Lisa. He didn’t think he had the strength for that at the moment.

Once outside, Cas took the jacket off of Ben and put it back on. They walked to a nearby hack. “I want you to take him to a place where he’s safe. Can you do that?”

Dean had been spacing out, his thoughts empty save for the weight in his arms. “Yeah. I’m taking him to Ellen and Bobby’s.”

“Good.” Castiel said, opening the hack door for the two of them to climb inside. Cas’s fingers were gentle on Dean’s knee. “I want you to go home afterward, okay? I’ll come straight there when I’m done here, okay?”

Dean nodded. He still felt disconnected from reality, and cold. However, anger was starting to burn in his gut. As long as he was angry, he’d be okay. It was better than the unbearable weight of sadness.

“Will you be alright?” Cas asked as he stepped back.

“Yeah, Cas.” Dean was shocked to find his voice sounded raw. 

Cas looked as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t because of where they were. Instead, he simply closed the hackney door. The coach set into motion. Ben was a warm weight against his side, still sniffling. They didn’t speak. Dean’s thoughts were for Lisa and Cas. Lisa was gone because of him. His instinct told him that he should distance himself from Cas before he was killed too. Before he got too far into that thought, he remembered that he was at risk too for the same reason. The Ripper knew of their relationship. He could strike at either one of them to make the other hurt. Somehow, the equal danger eased Dean’s concern. He was a selfish man, and knew that right now he needed Cas too much to let him go.

**December 13, 1888 6:00 AM**

Ellen had taken one look at Ben and had taken the boy into her arms with tears in her eyes. She’d hurried him into the house and had tried to set Jo and Bobby to work fixing a new room for the boy to stay in. Dean was surprised when Jo offered up her bed, and Ben had gone to her easily. Jo wrapped him up in a hug and had taken him upstairs. Just as he promised, Dean went home. There was nothing for him to do there. He paced the rooms waiting for Cas to get home.

That’s how Cas found him, nearly five hours after the murder. Charlie had shooed him out because she was worried about Dean, however, he knew that there was little else to do. The photographer had come to take pictures and Balthazar was waiting to take the body away. With Sam’s help, he and Charlie had combed the room where Lisa had been killed as well as the other rooms of the house. Sam checked upstairs but it seemed that the Ripper had never gone beyond the bottom floor.  This wasn’t the first time that the man had left another resident of the building alive, but they would still talk to Ben later to see if he did hear something.

There had been even better news than that. Before he left, Sam told him that he’d questioned a witness and had found out that she had gotten a look at the Ripper. She’d described him as a tall man with fair hair and a dark coat. She’d only seen him from a distance, but that description matched a few others they’d gotten from earlier murders. It was something. Maybe it would allow them to narrow their suspect list. Unfortunately, there were several people around the Abbey that could match that description.

He hadn’t been sure what he’d find when he came in, however, he supposed that Dean pacing was better than some of the alternatives his brain had cooked up.  Dean looked at him expectantly. “There was a witness. Sam questioned her but we can do it again in a more official capacity later today or tomorrow.”

Dean didn’t look very relieved, though he did stop pacing.  “That’s… that’s good.”

His lover was still out of it. Castiel expected he felt much as he had after Anna’s death: numb and as if the world had turned upside down.  Castiel approached him carefully and took his hand, his thumb rubbing across the back of Dean’s hand. “There’s little else we can do this night. We will need rest if we are to give the investigation our best.”

Dean nodded but did not move.

Castiel tried again. “Come, Dean.” He tugged the man’s hand, attempting to lead him to the bedroom. He was relieved when the man followed. They made it all the way into the room before Dean stopped again.

“This is all my fault, you know.” Dean’s voice was soft, but heavy.

“Dean…”

“No, Cas! It is my fault. I should never have become involved with her in the first place.” Dean’s eyes bored into Castiel, daring him to disagree. 

He had no intentions of disagreeing. Castiel knew exactly how Dean felt. It was his fault that Anna was dead and nothing could divert him from that. He didn’t see any reason to attempt to dissuade Dean now, not when the pain was so fresh. “Fault doesn’t matter right now, Dean. Both you and I will spend the rest of our lives atoning for what happened to our loved ones. What matters now is that we catch this monster and make him pay.”

Dean relaxed at these words, looking relieved that Cas hadn’t argued. So he moved to Dean’s side and took his coat and eased it from his shoulders. Dean didn’t resist as the detective took great care in undressing him. Once Dean was stripped down to his underclothes, Cas tucked him into bed, then he undressed himself to join him. He pulled an unresisting Dean into his arms, wrapping him up in warmth, though he sensed that this wasn’t what the man needed. Even in bed, Dean felt restless.

“What do you need, Dean?”

Silenced stretched between them, before Dean rolled to his side and put his lips against Castiel’s neck. “You.” The kiss was hot as the man added teeth to scrape his skin. “I need you.”

Castiel wasn’t certain that this was the right thing to give Dean. He knew that his lover liked to shunt his feelings to the side and ignore them when he truly needed to acknowledge what was going on. He didn’t have it in his heart to deny what Dean asked for. “You have me.”

Dean didn’t waste any time in peeling off the loose fitting night shirt and rolling on top of him. On a normal night, they would struggle over who dominated who, but tonight wasn’t the same as what they’d known before. Despite the desperation of Dean’s hands on his body, Castiel felt that it was something far deeper than sex and comfort. They had already started to turn to each other more and more; Castiel hadn’t taken the time to consider what that meant.  Lying under Dean now, offering the whole of himself to the man’s comfort, he knew it meant far more than either of them were prepared to admit.

Cas’s fingers were steady as he pulled off the remainder of Dean’s clothing then ran his fingers over Dean’s skin. It felt hot to the touch and the hunter seemed to be soaking in each and every stroke before he surged forward and captured Castiel’s lips. The kiss was nothing short of desperate, Dean’s need showing itself in the press of tongue that forced its way into Castiel’s mouth and then robbed him of the ability to breathe. He could barely keep up with the man as his mouth was taken ruthlessly, helpless to do anything but thrust up into Dean’s body seeking friction.

He found it when Dean rocked down into him and for a moment there was a delicious slide of cocks through the thin barrier of Castiel’s underpants. He yearned to feel Dean’s hardened flesh against his own and so reached between them to shove the offending garment down so his hardened length could spring free. He was already hard and leaking and when he reached for Dean so he could bring them together, he could tell that his lover was the same. He wrapped his fist around both of them and thrust, moaning because the drag of velvet flesh was perfect.

Dean returned the favor, thrusting back down to take up a solid rhythm between them. His lips broke away to attack Castiel’s neck and the upper portion of his chest, driving the detective partially mad to have more. After so long without, Castiel found himself just as desperate for the heated touch of his lover’s hand and eager to give Dean exactly what he needed. His fingers knotted into Dean’s hair and dragged him back up so their lips could meet once more; he needed the kisses more than anything else and had a feeling that Dean would too.

He was surprised when Dean pulled back. “I need…” The hunter licked his lips. “I want to feel you inside of me.” Castiel could only nod his assent as his own cock throbbed against him, the moment he heard the words, he needed to be inside of Dean.

To say that Dean burned was an understatement, he felt as if every nerve ending were on fire and the only thing to douse the flame and cool his senses was Cas. He knew that the reaction was born of desperation to feel something… anything to remind himself that he was still alive and that there was good still in the world, even if he didn’t believe it. “Cas…” He whispered, sitting up over his lover’s body and looking down at him. All the bruises and bites from their previous joining had healed but now wasn’t the time to renew them. He needed something else, something to wrap him up and blanket the hurt that had plunged deep into his soul.

Silence wrapped around him as Cas freed the small container of oil they kept at the bedside for this purpose and gave it to him. He poured what he needed and handed it back then set to work. He didn’t waste time with easing the way before he worked a finger into himself. What surprised him was a second hand covering his, then another finger sliding in next to his after he had worked with it a moment or two. He looked into Cas’s blue eyes and allowed the man to pull him down. Where their earlier kisses had been hot and needy, these were slow and sweet, pulling the passion between them into something deep and abiding. He chose not to think about it, instead savoring the way that they worked together to prepare his body for Castiel’s cock. They barely took the time to rub his prostate while they were about it, both of them needed their joining too much to draw this step out.

The moment that Dean thought he was ready he pulled his fingers away and pushed Cas’s hand away. He rose up while Cas slicked his cock, then he was taking the hardened length in his hand to hold it steady so he could sink down on it. The moment he felt the burn of Cas pressing past his rim, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back, taking a little time in fully impaling himself. He rested his full weight on Cas, opening his eyes again so he could seek out the blue gaze of the detective. For a moment they stared at each other, Dean’s lips parted to emit panting breaths while Cas’s fingers moved reverently over his chest. The touch was too much; he lay his hands on the man’s shoulders and began to move, drawing up that length then sliding back down it. He didn’t quite have the patience to ease them into it, he started with a pace that was punishing. Cas was clearly on board as he thrust up into Dean with all his strength, his hands on his hips to help him find the perfect angle.

Dean howled when the first stroke pounded into his prostate and he adjusted himself once more, he leaned back, bracing his hands on the detective’s thighs and worked himself up and down Cas’s cock. His cock jutted out obscenely from his body while each strike against his prostate made stars bloom behind his eyelids. He knew he wouldn’t last long, it had been too long since they’d last had each other and he needed it too badly to even try. He clenched around Cas’s cock, increasing the pace until he could hear the moans leaking from Cas, could feel the thrusts become uneven and needy. Then Cas reached for him and began to stroke his cock with the same ruthlessness of their bodies. It was all Dean could take and he gave himself willingly to it. His mind fuzzed out and his vision went dark as his come painted himself and Cas. He was dimly aware of the throbbing of the detective’s dick inside of him, heralding that he had come too but it was too distant and Dean was too far gone. He collapsed into Cas’s arms and let darkness take him, needing to feel nothing but warmth for just a short time.

 

**December 14, 1888, 11:00 AM**

_Hello again, Sammy._

_You have no idea how much it hurts my heart that you are no longer publishing my letters.  Did I do something to upset you?  Have my gifts not been enough?  Here I thought we had a mutually beneficial friendship._

_Maybe this gift will find you in a more affable state.  Although this uterus is all stretched out and used up, perhaps your brother shouldn’t have been so hasty in tossing it aside.  What a shame he has given up any chance to have children, having taken that detective as a lover._

_As Always,_

_Your Dearest of Friends,_

_Jack._

Sam didn’t even want to think about what Jack meant by that.  He didn’t have to open the package to know what was in it.  He just wanted to be rid of it.  He glanced over to Gabriel’s office and debated whether he should even tell the man about the package this time.  He determined that he would keep this letter to himself as he did the last one.  He was sure his editor suspected that something was up when Sam told him about the tongue and that he had turned it in to the coroner without telling him first.

There was only one logical choice to keep Gabriel’s suspicion to a minimum.  He tucked the letter into his coat pocket and carried the unopened package into his boss’ office.  “Ripper Delivery Service strikes again,” Sam said sardonically as he walked into the office.

“Sounds like you’re developing my sense of humor.  Guess we’ve been working together too long,” Gabriel chuckled easily.

“Is this really a laughing matter?” Sam asked, bitch face firmly in place.

“Apparently not.”  Gabriel poured the requisite glasses of fine French wine as Sam set the box on the desk.  “Shall we see what gift we’ve been blessed with this time?”

Sam opened the package to reveal what he had been expecting to find.  A uterus.  Lisa’s uterus.  He shuddered.

“You knew her, didn’t you?” Gabriel said quietly, sympathetically.

Sam scrubbed a hand across his face.  “She was engaged to my brother, long ago.  They haven’t spoken in years.  How did he even know about her?”

“That’s the mystery you, your brother, and the detectives need to solve,” Gabriel said, less than helpfully.  “Well, go on; get this over to the Yard.”

Sam nodded and carefully closed the package and lifted it off the desk.

“And don’t worry about mimeographing that letter.  I wouldn’t publish it anyway,” Gabe called as Sam walked out of the office.

 _How the hell did Gabe know about that?_   Sam thought to himself as he made his way to the coroner’s.

He knocked on the door, and entered when Balthazar said, “Come in!”

“This was on my desk this morning,” Sam said without preamble, handing the box to the doctor.  “It’s a uterus.”

“I figured as much, seeing as how that was the only organ I didn’t find that belonged to Mrs. Braeden.  You know, Sam, it’s highly irregular for a newspaper man to be delivering evidence to the coroner,” Balthazar said.

“Nothing about this case is regular,” Sam replied.  “Besides, it’s not right for someone to have to see a body part of their dead loved one.  I’m fairly certain if I would have delivered this to Novak first, I’d find my brother in his office.  Dean doesn’t need to see this anymore than Novak needed to see his sister’s tongue.”

Balthazar nodded.  “I understand.  I’ll make note in my report.”

Sam returned his nod and left without further disturbing the man’s work.

Sam’s next stop was Detective Novak’s office.  He had to talk to Dean.  Alone.  It was time he showed these letters to his brother and found out how much truth there was to what the Ripper said.  If he knew intimate details, this demon may be more powerful than any of them realized.

He knocked hesitantly on the office door, and pushed it open at Novak’s gravelly “Enter.”

When Sam opened the door, he was not surprised to see Dean hunched over the detective’s desk pouring over some document or other, with Castiel close by and Charlie at his own desk, nose down a microscope.

“Got something new for us, Sam?” Dean asked tiredly.

“Um, no.  Well, maybe.  I don’t know,” Sam stuttered.  “Look, Dean, can I talk to you.  Alone?”

“Uh, sure, Sammy,” Dean said, seeming concerned.  He gently patted Cas on the back as he made his way around the desk to usher Sam out of the room.  He shut the door behind them and looked up at his brother.  “Ok, we’re alone.  What’s up?”

“Not here, Dean.”  Sam looked around the empty hallway, clearly worried about being overheard.  “Can we go back to my place, have some lunch, and talk?”

“If that’s what you want Sam, of course.”  Dean led the way out of the police station and they made their way to Sam’s place.

Once there, they fell into their comfortable sibling roles.  Sam sat at the table as his older brother proceeded to fix a meal for them both.  As kids, it was always Dean’s duty to make the meals and take care of Sam when their father was hunting for the thing that killed their mother.

Once lunch was prepared, Dean sat down across the table from Sam.  “Ok, what is it you wanted to talk about that’s so important you pulled me away from investigating this case?”

“Um, well, this actually has to do with the case.”  Sam got up from the table to recover the Anna letter from where he had it hidden in the dresser in his room, and then gave both it and the Lisa letter to Dean.

After he read the letters, he looked over at Sam.  “Well, I already had a feeling that the Ripper knew about me and Cas.  This just confirms it.”

“You already knew?  What are you talking about, Dean?”

“What do you think he meant by ‘your brother and his detective friend’ in that one letter?”  Dean couldn’t believe Sam was this dense.  Maybe he was in denial?  “Where did you think I was staying when I stopped sleeping here?”

“I just assumed you were shacking up with some girl,” Sam answered.  “I guess I was half right.”

When Sam made a joke and chuckled, Dean visibly relaxed to realize Sam didn’t seem to have an issue with his relationship.  Dean wasn’t even aware that he had been holding onto that stress and fear of rejection from his brother.  “You don’t seem to have a problem with this revelation, although it took you longer to figure it out than I would expect.”

“Does Detective Novak make you happy, Dean?”

Despite the stress of the last couple of days, Dean couldn’t help the slow smile that spread across his face.  “Very.”

“Then I’m happy for you, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the case,” Sam responded.

“It won’t.  At least, it wasn’t until you pulled me away from it to have this heart to heart. Romance Novel moment over?”  Dean’s eyes were pleading.  He really needed to get back to the case.

“Yes, Dean.  Let’s get back to the case… and your boyfriend.”  Sam laughed heartily as they made their way out of his flat. It felt good to have a little bit of joy to celebrate for once.


	11. Chapter 11

**December 15, 1888, 9:00 AM – 7:00 PM**

Dean paced around the small space that was Cas and Charlie’s shared office.  He had given them the letters that Sam gave to him.  They each read one, and then switched.  When they were finished reading, it was as if they all settled onto the same thought:  The Ripper was making this personal now.  First Anna, then Lisa, put that together with the apparent stalking of Sam; yes, Jack the Ripper was eager to hurt them all.

“We need to talk to Assistant Commissioner Singer and get protection for our people,” Charlie said logically.  Clearly she was the only voice of reason in the room, as the two men just stared at her dumbfounded.

“Of course, you’re right,” Castiel agreed.  “Who are we looking at?  He’s going after family members and loved ones, so clearly Sam is at risk,” he looked to Dean as he said that.

“Sam is staying with us.” Dean said definitively.

“Ellen and Jo could be targets,” Charlie pointed out.

“Why do you say that?  Do you think he knows about you?”  Dean asked.

“Maybe.  But that doesn’t actually matter.  Didn’t the Singers basically help raise you and Sam?” Charlie challenged.

“Shit.”  Dean sank into the only other unoccupied chair in the room.  “Jessica Moore is also a potential target.”

The detectives looked at the hunter questioningly.  They didn’t recognize the name.

“Sam’s fiancée,” Dean clarified.

They worked out a plan for a protection detail before they decided to bring it to Bobby’s attention.  Dean wanted to keep a close eye on Sam, so it was decided that they would be staying with the Singers for both Sam’s protection as well as Ellen’s.  Castiel and Charlie would both stay with Jo.  Considering her very broad connection to all things on this case, they felt better with two detectives watching over her.  Since it seemed unlikely that Jessica would actually be on the Ripper’s radar, since the police weren’t even aware of her, they felt it would likely be fine for two officers to protect her.  It would take some convincing to get the proprietor of Jessica’s boarding house to let two male officers hang about after hours, but since the Ripper was able to get to nuns in a convent, Dean thought they should have no trouble convincing the landlady that protection was, indeed, needed.

They laid out the plan for Bobby.  He nodded in quick agreement with the protection plan for Jo and Jessica.  When Dean explained his idea to help protect both Sam and Ellen, Bobby had a very different reaction.

"Go away, ya idjit.  I can protect my own damn wife!”  Bobby griped.

"You’ll have two officers on Jess, two detectives on Jo, shouldn't you have the two of us on Ellen?...That didn't come out right…”  Dean griped back.

“Fine!”  Bobby agreed.  His tone softened before he said, “Ellen will love having you boys home anyway.  She misses taking care of you kids.  Too bad you can’t convince Jo to come home too.”

Charlie and Dean shared a simultaneous snort.  They both knew it would be hard enough getting Jo to accept protection at her own home, let alone convince her to go back to her parents’ place.

“I’ll put Spangler and Zeddmore on Miss Moore.  And you and Sam better be home for dinner!”

***

Jo Harvelle lived in a tiny flat in Whitechapel.  Crowley obtained it for her, stating he wanted her close by to keep an eye on his merchandise.  The location alone made Jo more vulnerable to an attack by the Ripper.  Her intrinsic connection to every aspect of the case made her the most likely target of the next attack.  Charlie didn’t even try to hide how relieved she was to have Cas by her side to keep Jo safe.  Not that she thought Jo was incapable of taking care of herself.  Charlie was well aware of how well her lady friend could hold her own.  That didn’t make her worry any less.

When they arrived at her place and explained the situation, of course Jo was less than thrilled by the idea.  "Charlie, I can take care of myself.  I don't need you and your gay boyfriend babysitting me!”

“I know that, Sweetness.”  Charlie took her hands and pulled her onto the tiny sofa.  “I am aware that you can take care of yourself.  But just…just let me have this.  Let us help keep you safe.  If you don’t want to stay here, we can stay at my place, or Cas’s.  Or a hotel.  I don’t care.  Where ever you want to go.  I just want you safe.”

Jo finally acquiesced, and looking around her tiny, humble flat, said, “Fine.  But we should probably stay at your place.  I don’t think three grown adults can comfortably coexist here.”

Charlie laughed.  “I agree.  Crowley really doesn’t like to put out money for decent digs for his employees, does he?”

**December 21, 1888, 3:00 AM**

Castiel was woken from a deep sleep by the pounding on the door.  He carefully untangled himself from his sheets. He was alone in Charlie’s sitting room and answered quickly to avoid waking the women.  He pulled on his trousers as he walked to the door.  He opened the door to find an out of breath runner looking at him with wide, wild eyes.

“What is it, Alfie?”

“Detective Novak, Sir, there’s been another murder,” the runner replied.

Cas had figured as much the moment he woke from his slumber.  They were still no closer to catching the Ripper, though he was getting closer to them.  Anna, Lisa, now who was next?  There was a little fear of what this could mean for them. Who would be hurt by a death of someone dear? It made the most sense for it to be Sam, but he prayed that he was wrong. “Where?” he asked simply.

As Alfie rattled off the address, Charlie made her way quietly into the room.  Once Cas closed the door on the runner, the room exploded into action, Jo helping Charlie into her boy clothes with a speed that was amazing.

He arrived on the scene to find Dean waiting for them. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.  “Cas, this is bad. It’s Jessica.”

***

When they saw the body, Dean’s foreshadowing of “bad” was proven correct.  There he stood, looking at the savaged body of his brother’s fiancée.  It seemed that because the victim was close to them, the Ripper had taken special pains to destroy any semblance of humanity from those he killed. Jessica’s blonde hair was soaked in blood but her face had been left completely untouched, just as they had been with Anna and Lisa. It was as if the Ripper wanted them to know without a doubt that he had taken someone important, someone dear. Her heart lay in her right hand and the majority of her skin had been stripped off. It lay draped over the sofa in long stripes there for all to see. “Cas, you gotta keep Sam away from here.  Have him arrested if you have to.  He can’t see this.”

Of course, Sam arrived on the scene not long after the police.  The Central News Agency had several Scotland Yard runners on their payroll.  That was how Sam always knew where the big stories were happening.  As soon as he was given the address of the latest victim, Sam’s heart dropped into his stomach.  It was the building where Jessica rented a room.  Again, it was a respectable area of town, not wealthy but nice enough. It was well away from the Ripper’s normal hunting ground.  Sam approached the news with a great deal of denial; it couldn’t be her, could it?  Maybe it was one of the other girls who lived in the boarding house.  Even as Sam tried to tell himself this, he didn’t believe it.  The Ripper killed Castiel’s sister and Dean’s ex fiancée.  Despite their relationship being long since over, Lisa had been attacked and killed by a monster.  Dean had wanted to keep her safe, but she’d still been killed.  Apparently none of them could keep their loved ones safe.

As soon as Sam approached the door of the building, he was stopped by a bobby.  “Let go of me, Garth.  I need to get in there!  Detective Novak gave the OK for me to be at crime scenes now, remember?”

“I’m sorry, Sam.  He rescinded that order.  We now are to keep you away by any means possible.  If you don’t leave quietly, we will be forced to place you under arrest,” Constable Fitzgerald explained calmly.

“I’d like to see you try!” Sam exclaimed as he shoved the slight man out of his way.

More bobbies surged on him to try to subdue him, but Sam was in a protective rage.  Just the fact that Novak was keeping him out confirmed his suspicions.  His beautiful, sweet, perfect Jessica who never had an unkind word to say about anyone, would never hurt anybody, had been brutalized by this…this…thing.  Rational thought had all but fled from Sam as he hurried to get one last look at his love.

He rushed up the stairs and stopped short with a gasp at the door of her room.  He sank to his knees, sobbing, making sounds that resembled “No.  No.  No.”

The bobbies that had followed Sam up the stairs finally arrived on the scene.  “Get him out of here.  NOW!” Castiel bellowed to them.  Both Dean and Cas jumped in to push Sam back but they couldn’t take his eyes away from Jessica. It was all he saw. This was his doing. The Ripper had singled him out, had taken a fascination with him and now Jessica had paid for it. He barely noticed the two dead bobbies at the door. No amount of protection had been able to save her. He looked at the scene before him with a raw sob and memorized it. He’d caused the death of the one he loved and he would spend the rest of his life paying for it.

It still took half a dozen bobbies to drag him away, even with Dean and Cas helping. Sam didn’t process it at all. One moment he was gazing at the horrible sight and the next he was sitting in a hackney in Ellen’s arms. He didn’t know where Ellen had come from but she was smoothing her hand over his hair and rocking him. He should stand up. He knew that he should get up and face this, should help the others solve the death and find the monster. Sam simply couldn’t. He wrapped his arms around Ellen and sobbed.

**December 22 – December 24, 1888**

The days after that were simply raw. Each time someone new died; it pulled open the wounds for the others. None of them could heal, and seeing Jessica’s death had brought back memories of Anna for Cas and Lisa for Dean.  A shadow fell over all of them as they continued to work the case. Dean was now sure it was someone in the Abbey, and Cas was inclined to agree but wasn’t ready to commit yet. Unfortunately, having the Ripper go into other areas widened the field by quite a lot. What if it was someone who was coming into Whitechapel from the outside? The general consensus was that they had all gone back to square one.

Charlie had taken to examining the letters that Sam received. She went over them, again and again, trying to get into the killer’s head and hoping to find some hint to the man’s location. She felt that he had some pretty intimate knowledge about the nuns; the tidbits he’d shared about them had been more personal than what he’d written when he was pretending to be uneducated and killing prostitutes.

Moreover, she pushed all of them onwards with her smiles and her gentle words.  “Come on, he wants you to hurt. Don’t let him get away with it!” She would say when someone fell so far into depression that they were on the verge of giving up.

Castiel realized that if the Ripper truly wanted to strike them a devastating blow, he’d take Charlie. She was the heart of their team. Because of that, there had been a general consensus that none of them should be alone anymore. They took turns alternating between Castiel’s house and Sam’s place since both were bigger than Charlie’s abode. It meant that he and Dean had a lot less time together but on the other hand, they were all there to support Sam and each other. Despite their losses or perhaps because of them, they drew together as a group, one depending on all the others.

The clock was ticking. They were all aware of it. Sam in particular seemed on pins and needles; waiting for the letter that all were sure was coming. They already knew he’d taken Jessica’s left hand. Castiel knew the Ripper wouldn’t miss his chance to taunt them over the loss; however as days became a week, it seemed he was ready to take his own sweet time in doing so.

**December 25, 1888, 6:00 PM**

Dean had questioned Ellen regarding the wisdom of having a Christmas celebration. Sam had been against it, saying that it seemed wrong after so many had died. Cas had been against it too; though his reason was wrapped up in his drive to work on the case, which was quickly rising to obsession levels. Charlie, of course, was on board with the idea and once she was on board, there was no stopping it. Both she and Ellen insisted that they needed a break from the death and frustration they were all experiencing, that perhaps in doing so they would find something new when they went back to the case. Dean hoped it was true.

So, there they all were, gathered in the Bobby’s Rest together with Ellen, Bobby and Jo to round out their numbers. The spread that Ellen had made was truly impressive: turkey with all the fixings, fresh baked breads, and of course, several pies. It seemed wonderful and despite himself, Dean felt cheered by it.

He wasn’t the only one. When they exchanged gifts, even Sam cracked a little bit of a smile. The gifts were all fairly simply; gloves and scarves and candies, but it seemed Ellen had something for each of them. Charlie too had gifts for them in the form of books. Each book was something each man would like and she’d left personalized messages to each of them. Whatever she’d written for Cas had brought a smile to his face and warranted a hug as well. By the end of the evening, they were warm and even laughing, for the moment, the horrors of the world dropped away into living and celebration.

As it turned out, they would need the rest for what was to come.

**December 30, 1888, 10:00 AM.**

The other shoe finally dropped. Sam had gone to the newspaper at the same time he always did and found the package on his desk. He didn’t open the box. He held the letter in fingers that felt nerveless. Gabriel appeared at his elbow and swept the box away from Sam.

“What does it say?” His boss’s voice was different today, softer and more sympathetic. Sam couldn’t say whether it was better than the creepy candy eating or not. He handed the letter over, lacking the stomach to read it out loud.

Gabriel read it.

_Sam,_

_I suppose I should be sorry for robbing of you of your true love.  But I’m not.  It’s less than what you deserve for sullying our friendship.  The language you used in your last article to describe me was more than insulting.  You are also no longer publishing my letters, which the public deserves to see!_

_Don’t you think the public deserves to know that one of the detectives tasked with protecting them is actually a pervert being defiled by your older brother?  How is that information not newsworthy?_

_Why have you chosen to all but ignore me after we’ve become so close?  If my previous gifts have not been enough to bind your devotion to me, perhaps this one will be worthy.  The symbol of your past bond will be the renaissance of our new and improved bond.  You cannot keep ignoring me, Sam._

_Signed,_

_Jack_

When he was done, Gabriel folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. The man’s hazel eyes were concerned. “I’m sorry, Sam. This is beyond evil. Why don’t I take these down to Scotland Yard.”

That snapped Sam out of his momentary darkness. He felt anger burn in his chest as he took the letter back from Gabriel. “No. I’ll do this. I have to.”

Gabriel nodded and handed the unopened box back to Sam. “Don’t open it.”

“I won’t.” Sam tucked the box under his arm and left the Agency office. It was the first time he’d been alone since Jessica had died. Dean walked him to and from work and he spent his nights with all the others. It felt good to have his own thoughts, even if they were dark. He made a stop to see the box given into Dr. Balthazar’s hands, then headed his steps towards Castiel’s place, where the others were gathered.

He never made it there. Later that afternoon, Dean found the letter pinned to Castiel’s door. A knife had been used to pin it there, just waiting for them to happen upon it. After that, they began to frantically search for Sam, drawing Vice Commissioner Singer and the rest of Scotland Yard into the operation. Despite looking deep into the night, Sam was nowhere to be found.


	12. Chapter 12

**December 31, 1888, 8:30 AM**

Gabriel was whistling as he made his way to the paper, even though he was nearly an hour later than usual.  He had a _fabulous_ night, and did not regret one second of debauchery, no matter how late it made him for work.  His top reporters and his assistant all had keys to the building, because you never know when a story will hit and a writer needs to be at their typewriter immediately, so there was no concern about that.  So, if he didn’t get there thirty minutes before everyone to enjoy the solitude before the bustle, he could always hide in his office and let Meg do all the leg work.  Gabriel was particularly thankful that people like him didn’t suffer from hangovers as he made a beeline for his office amidst all of the noise and movement of the busy paper.

What he was greeted with when he walked into his office was enough to sober him from what was left of his absinth induced haze.  His crystal decanter had been drained of his fine French wine, and in its place was an envelope with his name across the front, in red, in all too familiar handwriting.  He was going to need a drink before he even dared to open it.

Gabriel opened his office door, stuck his head out and bellowed, “Meg!  Meg Masters, get your salacious body in here tout de suite!”

Baldur answered him instead.  “Sir, Meg isn’t here.  She hasn’t been in yet this morning.”

That wasn’t _at all_ alarming.  Meg had never missed a day of work, or so much as ever been late.  Gabe frowned in concern.  He _really_ needed a drink.  “Very well, Baldur, you’ll have to do then.  Go down to Leahy’s Liquors and ask them for my usual.  They’ll know what you mean.  Have them put it on my account.”  The reporter looked at him like the task was beneath him.  “NOW!” Gabriel bellowed, and Baldur scrambled to his feet and made his way quickly out the door.

Gabriel closed the door to his office and sat down at his desk, resting his elbows on top and cradling his head as he stared at the letter that was still in the empty decanter.  This was a sure sign that all of his suspicions about the Ripper were true.  There was something about the presence of the letter that was niggling at his brain and it took him several moments of just staring to figure out what it was.  Suddenly, it dawned on him.  The letter was addressed to him, not Sam.  Did that mean—He didn’t finish the thought.  He stuck his head out of his office again and asked, “Is Sam Winchester here yet?  Has anybody seen him today?”

Kali responded this time.  “He hasn’t been in yet either.  Perhaps he and Meg…” she let her voice trail off and her eyebrows waggled with the implication.

Gabriel didn’t respond.  He simply shut his door and resumed his posture of staring at the letter.  Thankfully, his gawking at the inanimate object that held no answers until he opened it was interrupted by Baldur crankily skulking in without knocking and setting the bottle of wine on his desk in a less than gentle manner before turning on his heel and leaving without a word.  “Thanks, Bald!” Gabriel said to the man’s back.

Carefully removing the letter from the decanter as if it might bite him, Gabriel set it aside and poured the fine French wine into it to let it breathe.  He didn’t want to wait, so he immediately poured himself a glass, not caring that it wouldn’t taste as well as it should.  Swallowing the glass down in one gulp, he finally opened and read the letter.

_Long time no see, Dionysus._

_Or is it Loki?  No, it’s Gabriel now, isn’t it?  So, being a Greek God wasn’t good enough for you?  You pretended to be the great Loki and now you’re claiming the name of an archangel.  You should be ashamed of yourself for your deceptions.  But that’s fine.  It is now time for your deceptions to come to an end.  We’ll see what the REAL Loki thinks of your little charade._

_I know that you’ve taken quite an interest in the younger Winchester.  Guess he’s like a little puppy to you?  No, wait, you called him your “young protégé” did you not?  I wonder how he will feel when he finds out that you are one of the very creatures he used to hunt.  Not that it matters.  You will both be dead before long.  As well as that little slut you let run your stupid little paper._

_Your reckoning has come, my former liege.  If you wish to have any hope of saving your dear protégé, come to the Abbey where I defiled the Virgin Servants of God.  There, you will get what you well and truly deserve, as will these mere humans you lower yourself to associate with._

_Do not try to avoid your reckoning, my liege.  Whether you come or not, Sam and Meg will surely die.  If you show up, perhaps you can try to save them, even though it will be a fruitless endeavor. Oh! Did I tell you the time, my old friend? Midnight will be the hour of your demise._

_Regards,_

_Jack_

Gabriel swallowed two more glasses of wine as he read the letter over and over.  He knew it was a trap, for him as well as for the Scotland Yard detectives and the hunter of unnatural things.  He also knew that he didn’t care.  They had to do what they could to keep this monster from killing anyone else, even if it meant revealing his carefully hidden secret to someone who would likely kill him the second this situation was dealt with.  Sighing, he placed the letter carefully back into the envelope and made his way to the Yard.

After exchanging a few not so pleasant words with the bobby at the front desk, he was finally escorted to Detectives Novak and Bradbury.  He was pleasantly not surprised to find Dean Winchester with them.

Castiel looked up from the file he was absorbed in, but before he could even finish asking what the editor of the paper was doing there; Gabriel dropped the letter on the desk in front of him.  Charlie and Dean positioned themselves so that each of them was looking over each of Castiel’s shoulders.  They exchanged a glance.  Everyone recognized the handwriting.

“He has Sam, and Meg.  And you are going to need my help to stop whatever he has planned,” Gabriel said ominously.

**December 31, 1888, 10:00 AM**

Talking to Gabriel had brought one surprise after another, none of which were particularly good surprises, if you were Dean Winchester. The fact that the Ripper had Sam was a bad enough place to start. (He didn’t know who this Meg was, but Gabriel said she was part of the plan, whatever that was, so she had to be saved too.) The real bomb had been dropped when the man had let them read the letter.

Dean had just stared at the man… god, before them in stunned disbelief. “You know that I kill guys like you for a living.”

Gabriel simply laughed. “I do. This was just way too important, Dean-o.”

Dean winced at the name, but so far Gab… Dionysus hadn’t tried to kill and eat them, so he didn’t want to start a fight over something stupid.

Cas cleared his throat. For having found out that the gods of old were real (and mostly bastards), the detective was doing quite well. “You said you knew what was going on. Explain.”

Gabriel sighed. “I wasn’t sure when Sam first started getting the letters. At first it seemed like it was just some looney killing for fun in Whitechapel. It became something else. When it started with the nuns, I was beginning to get suspicious. Now it all makes sense. I might know who this is but more importantly, I know what he’s trying to do.”

Dean placed his hands on Cas’s desk and leaned across the surface towards Gabriel. “So who… what is this?”

Gabriel sighed. “A witch. A very old one unless I miss my guess. He knew who I was, so it’s likely he was one of my followers from Greece.”

“That would make him over a thousand years old,” Cas noted. It was clear he was trying to keep his disbelief from his face.

“Hello. Witch,” Gabriel said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “They can manage to have unnaturally long lives, and the older the witch, the more power they have. This one must have a monstrous amount, because what he’s trying to do…” The god shook his head. “It’s insane.”

“You’ve been beating around this. What is it?” Once again, Cas wanted to strike to the very heart of the matter.

“Didn’t you notice in the letter? He mentioned Loki specifically. It’s true that I’ve carried and used the name myself, it has such a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Of course, that’s not who I am.” Gabriel paused for dramatic effect, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of jelly beans and began to pop them into his mouth one at a time. “Come on, does no one know their mythology?”

Charlie pushed off from the wall where she had been standing. “Loki is bound to Fenrir wolf until the coming of Ragnarok, when the chain that binds the both of them will be broken, releasing them both.”

“So he’s planning to unleash Ragnarok?” Now Cas’s skepticism was clear to see.

“He’s trying to end the world?” Even Dean was having a hard time believing this and yet… it probably was true. Why else would a god come to them for help? “This is…” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “This is way above even my pay grade.”

“Not without some help. Look, maybe it’s a bit much for you, but I’m here and I know where to get you a god sized weapon,” Gabriel told them as he leaned back and put his feet on Cas’s desk.

 Cas leaned forward and pushed them off again. “So what is this miraculous weapon and where do we find it?”

“You are going to get Excalibur and it’s in the British Museum.” Gabriel was grinning for all he was worth, clearly amused with his own cleverness.

“Excuse me?” Cas glanced to Dean, looking for guidance.

“Okay, let’s say it is Excalibur. How the hell did it get there and how are we going to steal it?” Dean’s head was starting to hurt. He needed a drink.

Almost as if reading his mind, Cas got up and crossed to the side board, where he poured all four of them a healthy portion of his cheap gin.

Dean shot it back then watched Gabriel swirl it around in his glass.

“How it got there is a long story. We don’t have time. You two…” He glanced from Cas to Dean. “…are going to go steal it after the Museum closes tonight.”

“That’s too long.” Dean huffed and went back to the gin to pour himself some more. “Sam could be dead by then.”

“Come on, did you read the letter at all?!” Gabriel winced as he sipped the gin. “He said midnight. My guess is that’s when he’ll complete the spell. Something of this magnitude will be complicated and he’ll be casting and preparing for a long time. What’s more, he’s likely protecting the location to keep us from getting in early. So, we’ve got some time.”

“Fine, we have time. What do we do until then?” Cas’s voice was every bit as frustrated as Dean felt.

“We plan as much as we can and then we go gather what we will need. I will be borrowing the lovely Detective Bradbury to help me track down what I’ll need to crack his protection spell so we can get in early.” Gabriel finished the gin and went back to eating jelly beans from his pocket.

“So what can we expect when we get inside?” Dean leaned his hip against the desk, already trying to plan ahead for how they would rescue Sam.

“I have no clue.” Gabriel chuckled.

“Then how the hell do we plan?” Cas’s glower would have intimidated a lesser man.

Gabriel just smiled. “So I exaggerated about the planning bit. The ritual he’s using to free Loki and Fenrir is likely his own design. We do know that he plans on killing Sam and Meg. Let’s start with securing their rescue and go from there. He’ll likely have the two of them in a casting circle and…” The four of them settled into plan while listening to the drone of Gabriel’s voice.

**December 31, 1888, 1:00 PM**

Gabriel piped up after they worked out their plan.  “Alright, kids, while the two of you figure out how to break into the museum, me and this lovely lady,” he tousled Charlie’s fiery locks, “are going to stop by the Abbey to figure out what kind of protection spell we’re up against.”

Charlie smacked his hand away before looking up at him.  “Wait…how did you…?”

“What?  Know?  About your little secret?” Gabriel asked.  “Um, hello, ancient deity.  There is little I _don’t_ know.”

“Do I _have_ to go with him?” she asked, annoyed.

Gabriel answered before anyone else could get a word in.  “Yes, obviously.  You’re the brains of this operation, and I need your big, beautiful brain to help find a counter spell.”

“Ugh, fine,” she huffed before donning her bowler hat and letting Gabe escort her out of the office.

They arrived at the chapel, but as Charlie approached the building, Gabriel stopped her with a firm, but gentle hand on her shoulder.  “Careful.  The protection spell is powerful.  The magic is ancient.”

She looked at him and rolled her eyes.  “I don’t see any protection.”  Maybe she was having a bit of trouble wrapping her logical brain around the idea of magic.  Charlie shook his hand off and confidently strode to the door.  When she reached out to open it, she was blown back by an invisible force.

Gabriel caught her and chuckled.  "Told you.  Maybe I was wrong about you being the brains of the operation."

She slapped him on the arm.  “Let’s see you do any better.”

With a smirk, he approached the building next.  He walked almost to the spot where Charlie had been blown back.  Gabriel lifted his hands in an attempt to feel and suss out the spell work.  He closed his eyes and concentrated for several drawn out minutes. "What the Hell is this, some kind of Frankenspell?  Come on, Lovely, this is going to take a LOT of research...and wine!"

When he gripped her elbow firmly, Charlie rolled her eyes at him again and let him drag her off.  “Where are we going?”

“Back to my office, but we need to make a stop first.”

As it turned out, the stop was at Leahy’s Liquors.  Once they arrived, Gabriel exchanged a few words in sign language with the brunette behind the counter.  Charlie caught a bit of the exchange such as “Bottle was too small” and “Already empty.”

Charlie just looked at him as they walked out of the store with Gabriel carrying two very large bottles of what appeared to be very fine French wine.  “What?” he asked.  “We need this in order to figure out our plan.”

“Oh?  Is fine French wine part of the counter spell?” Charlie asked skeptically.

“No.  At least, I don’t think so.  This is for us!” Gabriel replied cheerily.

When they arrived at the newspaper, they made a beeline for Gabe’s office.  As soon as they crossed the threshold, Charlie immediately spotted the miles and miles of books along the sturdy mahogany bookcases.  “Wow,” she breathed.  “There are books here on all the ancient myths, lore, and magic.  So, I guess this magic stuff is really real, huh?”

“Hmm…and here I thought the elder Winchester was the dense one.  Yes, of course magic is real, in case your little accident at the Abbey didn’t confirm that for you.”

“I know, I know.  I just…didn’t know…or believe…”  The normally well composed detective was starting to babble.

“Shh, shh, Lovely.  It’s alright.  I’ll help you wrap your pretty, brainy little head around this.  Now, let’s start with these.”  He pulled several heavy tomes from the shelves:  Greek, Roman, Norse, Sumerian, and Egyptian.

“You think the spell is one of these?” Charlie asked.

“Nope, I think it’s _all_ of these,” Gabriel explained as he poured them each a glass of fine French wine from his crystal decanter before refilling it from one of the new bottles he had just purchased.

Charlie raised an eyebrow at him before taking a sip.  “You really think this will help?”  After she tasted the wine, she added, “At least this is better than that swill Castiel keeps in our office.”

“You’re not lying,” Gabriel said as they settled down with the books.

As they searched through those books and many others, Charlie happily helped herself to Gabriel’s jelly bean stash, until the bowl was nearly empty with just a handful of the treats left.  Gabriel looked up from the book he was perusing in time to see the candy supply dwindling.  “Hey, save some of those for me!” he said as he reached for the final handful.

Charlie beat him to it, and with a smirk, scooped up the remaining beans.  She proceeded to pop them in her mouth one by one.  When he pouted at her, she threw one at him, which he easily caught in his mouth.  With a scowl, she tried again.  Again, he caught it.  Not one to be easily defeated, Charlie moved about the room, throwing jelly beans at him from different locations and angles.  Each and every time, he caught it in his mouth.  With a huff, she gave up declaring, “Enough of this nonsense!  We need a spell!”

They got back to work and shortly after the jelly bean incident, Gabriel and Charlie did piece together a spell that Gabriel was “pretty sure” would work.

**December 31, 1888, 3:00 PM**

Dean and Cas were sitting on a bench in the corner of one of the exhibit rooms at the British Museum. They’d spent an inordinate amount of time exploring the museum that day. They were supposed to be watching where the guards were posted and finding the exhibit in question, but Dean had a sneaking suspicion that Cas was reading the placards and enjoying the sights since they were there. When Dean had given him a hard time about it, his lover had frowned at him.

“We have all day Dean. What else are we to be doing?”

He’d had a point, so Dean had backed off. They were in the room with the sword Gabriel had indicated, watching the ebb and flow of Museum visitors in the room. Most paused to read the sign, but most people ignored the sword completely, which Dean thought was odd.

“It must be some kind of spell,” Dean mused.

His voice jarred Castiel out of whatever thoughts he’d been lost in. “What?”

“No one is looking at the sword. Don’t you think it’s weird?”

Cas nodded. “I’d not noticed but you are right.” Together they watched a couple breeze right past the sword. “So it’s a spell?”

“If I were a gambling man, I’d say it was,” Dean confirmed.

“Are you?” Cas was looking at Dean with those deep blue eyes, his expression unreadable.

“Yeah, Cas. I am.” Dean grinned and shifted on the bench so his fingers brushed the back of the other man’s hand. Castiel smiled.

They sat in silence until a guard entered the room, did a sweep, and then left again. It was Cas that broke it, looking pensive. “Dean, what will you do when this is over?”

Dean hadn’t thought about that, not while they were in the middle of it. “I guess go back to life as usual.” Even saying so felt wrong to him, particularly when he thought of leaving Cas behind in London. “What about you?” His voice sounded thick to his ears but he didn’t want to think about why.

“I don’t know. I don’t…” Cas swallowed, looking at Dean again. This time his gaze was intense, blue burning into green. “I don’t think I can go on as I’ve been. What if… I went with you? Could I do that?”

Warmth flooded Dean, unbidden. “I would like that, Cas.”

The smile that spread on Cas’s lips was like sunshine breaking through clouds. “Good.”

There was a lot that went unsaid between them, but at the moment they didn’t need to go there. Things were too uncertain to make plans for the future, but sometimes a little hope went a long way.

**December 31, 1888, 5:00 PM**

As thin as a ribbon but stronger than chains made of the heaviest metals available, Gleipnir was made by dwarves out of impossible things to perform an impossible task: to hold Fenrir- wolf until the end of the world, Ragnarok, occurred. Gleipnir was woven out of six strands, each one building upon the last to create a bond that was unbreakable. Or so everyone thought. He knew better. When the world moved on and the old gods, the old ways were forgotten, he remembered and studied. Of all the myths about the ending of the world to choose from, he’d settled on this one because once Fenrir destroyed the world, it would be remade in a new image, an image of his choosing. He’d found the chain. That much hadn’t been hard. It was breaking the chain that had proven difficult. He’d traveled the world, finding text after text of forgotten lore and spells. It had taken him more time than he would have liked and by the time he was ready to cast it, the world had greatly changed.

It didn’t matter so much, because there were people a plenty and the breaking of the chain was wrought in blood. It wasn’t a Norse spell that he had to do it but rather, a pigeon crafted of a number of spells gathered from the Celts, the Sumerians, the Romans, and even his own native Greece. He was inordinately proud of what he’d wrought. It was crude and terrible, but he liked it anyway. A ritual in six parts using body parts for breaking the six chains; half from soiled doves and the other half from pure virgins, all pulled forth by violence.  He found the process beautiful, just as he’d enjoyed watching the women bleed out. Even now, he was giddy when he thought of it.

How perfect this plan was? Six rituals were good, but adding a seventh was even better. He’d planned this oh so carefully; a ritual to allow the rebirth of the word in such a way that he would have control. A world of his choosing with the sacrifice of a man and woman together so he would have what he needed to fill it again if he so chose. Of course, he didn’t choose that, which was why those two had to die. They were the perfect pair. He circled around them, his steps echoing in the empty chapel. They lay in the center of the casting circle, both bound so tightly that they could scarcely move. His pretty soiled dove; the errand girl that had jumped to serve him with promises of power lay spread eagle on the ground with her arms and legs bound to wrought iron spikes hammered into the stone floor.  Pretty Meg was all ready for the carving. He couldn’t hear her weeping, but he could see the tears that streaked down her cheeks and dribbled onto the ground beneath her. Pathetic until the end.

Next to her lay her impromptu mate and the object of his own obsession, the lanky Sam Winchester. He was trussed head to toe because of his size and strength; it wouldn’t do to have his prize break free. He stopped to hammer a couple spikes above Sam’s head to bind his arms to. He’d be tied just as Meg was, but he’d need more chloroform first. At the moment, he was enjoying the way those hazel eyes followed him around the room, glaring at him.

“Oh Sam. You have no idea how glad I am you are here.  It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” His dark robe dragged the ground as he spoke, the hem making a _whisk, whisk, whisk_ sound. He liked it. “I saved you the most important role! The only man to be killed.” He paused and leaned over to whisper in Sam’s ear. “Those two morons protecting Jessica didn’t count. They were simply in the way.” He patted Sam’s head and walked out of the circle where he began setting up the six dishes that would contain the six organs. They had plenty of time before midnight when the new moon was high in the sky, but it never hurt to be prepared.

He paused in his work to glance up through the stained glass to note that the light of the day was fading already. He did so hope that his former master got his letter and brought along the detective and his lover. He wanted them to be there when he killed Sam. He wanted them all to see how helpless; how utterly defeated they were before the end took them. That wasn’t too much for a new god to ask, now was it? Humming a cheerful tune, he moved to the next spot to lay out the dish just so. He wanted his guests to be impressed.

**December 31, 1888, 9:00 PM**

Castiel stood behind Dean in the dark alleyway behind the British Museum; he was so close that their shoulders almost touched. If he was honest, the proximity of his lover helped ease the nerves that had seized his stomach and made it feel as if it were twisting into knots. They were about to do something he’d never done before: break the law. The museum was dark at this hour, as was the alleyway behind it. Cas looked around him to see if there was anyone to note their presence but there wasn’t. That should make him relax but nothing could do that now. He’d stepped beyond his realm of expertise and well into Dean’s, however, he intended to see this through and so here he stood, about to break into the British Museum.

“How does Gabriel know this is going to work?” He hissed as Dean knelt to check one of the basement windows.

“I’m sure he doesn’t but it’s better than nothing so we are going to try it.” Dean slid the blade of a knife under the seal of the window and popped the lock open. The window moved easily and he pushed it and propped it open.

“How is that…?”

“Look, Cas. This is the way monster hunting goes sometimes. We take a stab at the dark because if we don’t, people will die.” Dean glanced over his shoulder at him. His lover’s brow was knit and he was frowning. “If you don’t want to do this, then hang back or go home.”

“No. I won’t leave you.” Cas shook his head and passed Dean to the window. After a moment of examination, he began to climb through it.

Dean followed him inside. They stood chest to chest for a moment, each feeling the other’s heat. Dean’s expression softened. “Thanks Cas.” He became all business again. “We’ll need to be quiet now. Keep an eye out for guards.”

Nodding, Castiel followed behind Dean, marveling at how quietly the man could move when he really wanted to. They crept up the stairs from the basement level, which seemed to be storage for things that weren’t on display, and onto the first level of the museum. Once on the floor, the wide hallways made him feel exposed, however, the museum rang with silence as they made their way through it. If there were guards, they either weren’t posted inside or were already asleep.

It took far longer to find the display that they wanted; a collection of objects from the medieval period in Cornwall and Arthurian legend. The items were tied into the legend itself and among them was a sword that Gabriel said they would need. When they found it, it was balanced on simple metal brackets on the wall next to a sign that told the reader that this is what Excalibur would have looked like. Gabriel said that it was the real deal and they would need it to combat whatever plan the mad man had in store for them.

“It’s not very impressive, is it?” Dean’s voice was soft as he reached for the sword and removed it from the wall. It was dull metal and very scratched, though quite long and when Dean passed it to him, he found it to be quite heavy as well.

“How did they fight with this?” It took him both hands to keep the blade upright.

“It was a different time, Cas. I imagine if we had to use them today, we would all be strong enough to lift them.”  Dean swept up a shield that had been mounted on the wall next to the where the sword had been.

“Do we need that?” Castiel didn’t remember anything about a shield.

“No, I just think it’s interesting.” Dean said with a grin as he led the way back to the basement stairs.

“Dean!” Castiel couldn’t help his indignation. It was one thing to steal to save people’s lives but something else to just do it.

Dean pouted. “Fine.” He replaced the shield on the wall and turned his attention to getting them out of there.

It was a relief when they made it to the basement and more so when they got out of the building and into the street. Castiel removed his coat and wrapped up the sword so it would be hidden. He regretted the action immediately; it was chilly outside and he began to shiver. “Let’s get this to the meeting place before I freeze to death.”

In the end, Dean swiped a horse blanket out of an unattended hackney to wrap the blade. By that time, Castiel was so cold that he didn’t even complain about the petty theft. All he could think was that Gabriel had better be right about the sword.


	13. Chapter 13

**December 31, 1888, 11:00 PM**

It took them right up to the very last minute to gather the ingredients for their spell, so the appointed hour found them running towards the designated meeting spot outside the Abbey. As they approached the outer edge of the Abbey grounds, Gabriel stopped suddenly, causing Charlie to run into the back of him. “What?” she asked, surprised.

Gabriel took the items he was carrying and set them on the ground, then he took the items she had and set them down as well. He took both of her hands and held them in his own. He looked deeply into her eyes.

“Uh, what’s going on?” Charlie asked, clearly uncomfortable.

“Lovely, this could very possibly be our last day on Earth,” Gabriel replied, his tone and look nothing but serious, the earlier mirth drained from his features.

 Charlie quirked an eyebrow at him. “Well, I’m a Scotland Yard detective. I do not fear death.”

 “Nor do I,” he responded. “However, don’t you think we should at least go out with a bang?” He emphasized the word “bang” with an exaggerated waggle of his eye brows.

 She pulled her hands out of his grip, and said, quite mocking his manner of speaking, “Hello, lover of the ladies over here, Mr. All Knowing and All Powerful Deity!”

 He gripped her hands again. “Yes, I am an all-powerful deity. And as such, I can make this vessel appear any way I wish. I could even appear as your feisty Miss Harvelle if you would like.”

 Charlie pulled out of his grip once again to level a very solid punch to his man bits.

 Gabriel grabbed his groin and through a strangled breath said, “Just because you don’t like penises doesn’t mean you should abuse them!”

 Charlie rolled her eyes. “Suck it up, Mr. All Powerful. We have work to do.” She gathered her things and strode purposefully towards the Abbey.

 Taking almost no time at all to recover, thanks to his power, Gabriel picked up his things from the ground and hurried after her.

 Once they arrived in front of the chapel, they stopped, giving the spell a wide berth. The spell to counteract the protection was complex. It required Gabriel focusing his magic through a chant to redirect the flow of the spell, while Charlie mixed a potion to obliterate the magic once and for all. It was dangerous, especially for Gabriel. One small mistake, and his magic would be obliterated as well. Even if performed perfectly, his power could still be affected. There was no wiggle room.

 Gabriel stood in the center, several feet from the door of the chapel. He raised his arms in the air and started chanting in Enochian. Charlie measured out the ingredients for the potion and carefully started mixing them in the required brass cauldron. The potion started to reek but from what they had read, that was supposedly a good thing. Timing was everything. Charlie had to have the potion ready to throw onto the building the very second Gabriel finished his chant.

 He stopped speaking and lowered his hands. Charlie threw the contents of the cauldron onto the building. A foul green smoke started to rise all around them. There was a loud crackle and a flash of light. With that, the protect spell was eliminated.

 Dean and Castiel arrived just as the flash of light faded away. “What is that horrific stench?” Dean asked, pulling his shirt over his nose. Castiel didn’t say anything, but had adjusted his clothing much the same way Dean had.

 Charlie just gaped at them. “You guys are around dead bodies all the time and this bothers you? Come on, let’s get inside, princesses.”

 There was something about the magic that was familiar to Gabriel, like something he had felt before, a very long time ago.  He suddenly realized which of his acolytes was responsible for this magic.  This person was truly conniving and vindictive.  It would take strategy to defeat this monster or a clever sneak attack.  While the others were distracted, Gabriel snuck away from the group to the back of the chapel. No one noticed him leave.

 As the group got ready to face their foe, they realized they were one short.  “Where’s Gabriel?  The Ripper said he was supposed to be here.  If he’s not with us, this guy could decide to kill Sam early,” Dean said with worry.

 “I’ll go look for him, you guys get inside,” Charlie volunteered.

  **December 31, 1888, 11:30 PM**

Dean and Cas burst through the doors of the chapel, both immediately searching for Sam and Meg. Castiel wasn’t sure what he should expect as he’d never faced a witch before; his imagination had cooked up visions of ugly women with crooked noses and pointed hats. Therefore, the sight he was met with took him aback. Both Sam and Meg were bound, spread eagle and naked, at the center of an elaborate circle filled with unfamiliar runes. Both of them had the strange, scrawling runes drawn upon their skin in red ink… at least he hoped it was ink of some kind. He watched as a man in a black robe stood up quickly, head whipping around to gaze at them.

“Father Luke?” Castiel breathed in surprise.  He couldn’t fathom this man of God, who had been a friend to him and a mentor to Anna was actually this evil, evil _thing_.

“Actually, it’s Lucifer,” the Ripper answered snidely, trying to cover his own surprise. “Don’t you know it’s rude to be early, not to mention terribly unfashionable?”

Dean snorted next to Castiel. “There is no way that you are the actual Devil. That’s a little arrogant for a witch, don’t you think?”

With a wave of his hand, Lucifer sent both Dean and Cas flying into the nearest wall. The wrapped bundle on Dean’s back, the sword, fell at Dean’s feet, for the moment forgotten.

“Dean!” Castiel cried, concern making his voice even deeper as he struggled against invisible bonds.  He tried to go to the man, but he couldn’t move.

Lucifer tisked at him.  “My, my, my, Castiel.  The man named after an Angel of the Lord, the son of a man of the cloth and yet here you are, defiling yourself with a _Winchester_.”  He spat the name like it was the vilest word in the world.  “A _male_ Winchester at that.  How would your father feel if he knew the kind of sin you indulged in on a regular basis?”  With every sentence, every word, every breath he drew closer and closer to the detective, mocking him.

“You leave him alone!” Dean shouted, drawing Lucifer’s attention back to him.

“Oh, don’t you worry little hunter, I’ve not forgotten about you.” The man reversed his steps and stalked the short distance towards Dean. When he stopped in front of him, he grasped Dean’s chin and forced his face up. “I can’t even begin to express how pleased I am to have brought your baby brother into this. Can you not imagine a more perfect sacrifice than the scion of one of the oldest hunting families in England? It’s a good bloodline for the end of the world.”

Dean hissed through his teeth as he tried to pull away from Lucifer’s touch. “If you touch my brother…”

“I’m going to do more than touch him, Dean, I’m going to kill him and use his balls to birth my new world.” He patted Dean on the cheek. “Don’t they make such a lovely couple? I think the world they create is going to be so much better than this one.” He leaned in, grinning widely with his eyes squinting with joy. “It’s going to be mine, of my making and choosing and it’s going to be grand. It all starts at midnight. I just can’t wait!”

Lucifer paced away and returned to Castiel, where he put his elbow to the stone wall next to the detective’s head and leaned against it casually. “This is all a little over your head, isn’t it, Detective?” Castiel found his fists clenching at his sides as he wished he could wipe the grin off of the priest’s face. The man went on. “What concerns me is the location of your friends. I don’t believe that the two of you broke my little spell all on your lonesome. I suspect you had divine help. Now, be a good lad and tell me where Dionysus is.” 

Dean cut in, drawing Lucifer’s attention away. “He’s not here.”

“What do you mean he isn’t here? I was very clear in my letter that he was to come.” Lucifer’s eyebrows were drawn and he tapped his foot in annoyance.

“I don’t know. He told us he felt that getting us in was enough and the rest was our problem.” Dean was clearly a good liar. Castiel knew that he wouldn’t be nearly so convincing on his own but Lucifer seemed to be buying Dean’s story, if the man’s apparent anger was anything to go by.

Lucifer glanced between them, tapping his toe as he glowered at both of them. With a flounce, he turned away and left them both pinned to the wall, stalking back to the circle where Sam and Meg were held.

“Cas, this looks bad,” Dean whispered to him, struggling again at their invisible bonds.

“I know.” Cas struggled too but found them absolute. “How long can he do this?”

“Most witches can’t even do this for as long as he has.” Dean glanced back to the circle, his cheeks growing pale and his struggles increasing. “Gabriel said he was really old!”

Suddenly, the force that held them intensified. Lucifer stood on the outside of the circle with a wicked looking dagger in his hand. “You morons know that I can hear you, right?” He rolled his eyes and turned back away from them. “Now be quiet, Daddy is casting a spell and doesn’t want to be interrupted.” They watched in relative horror, helpless, as Lucifer took up a jar from a box near his feet, opened it, and pulled an organ from the murky liquid inside. They were too far back to see what it was and that was a mercy of sorts since they knew where those organs had come from. He laid the organ in the dish at his feet, then walked part of the way around the circle to the next dish, where he retrieved another organ from another jar to lay it down. He was placing them just so, making his way around the circle. In the center, Sam intensified his struggling against the chains that held him to the iron spikes in the floor but he made no headway. For the moment, Lucifer ignored him.

When the witch got to the part of the circle that was closest to them, Castiel realized that the man was chanting. Not only was he chanting, he was chanting in different languages, switching back and forth between at least four or five of them. He recognized Latin and Greek but that was all. The ritual was beginning. They watched as Lucifer cut his hand, letting blood drip into each dish with the organs. He completed an entire circuit of doing just that and when he dripped blood into the last dish, a bitter wind kicked up inside of the chapel. It howled, blowing around and around the walls until all the stained glass windows exploded outwards from the force of it. Castiel could barely catch his breath.

“DEAN!” He screamed over the wind, fighting against Lucifer’s power in an attempt to move when he began to feel some give. His hands could move just a little. With bright eyes, he glanced to Dean who nodded at him. Both of them struggled harder; it seemed that with his attention turned to the spell, Lucifer couldn’t hold them as tightly.

A pale blue glow pulled Castiel’s eyes back to the center of the room. Hovering above Sam and Meg in the center of the circle there was a blue ball of light. It started as a mere shimmer but brightened then lengthened, slowly forming the shape of a chain. The chain was built of six separate layers, each pulsing a different color than the rest: blue, red, green, yellow, purple, and orange.

Lucifer turned to them and in the pulsing light of the chain, his eyes seemed to flash red. “Let’s end the world, shall we?” With a shouted word, he gestured towards the first dish, which Cas could now see was blue. The contents burst into a bright blue flame that flared to life then fizzled out quickly. As the fire died, the glowing blue thread of the floating chain frayed and snapped. Lucifer moved to the next bowl and repeated the action. The red thread frayed and broke. In the circle Meg and Sam were both fighting for all they were worth, the muffled sounds of their screams were audible above the wind in the room. Cas pushed against the bonds and found his legs could move. He braced them against the wall for greater leverage and pushed with all his might. The green thread was broken already and the yellow flame was dying out. There was a low level thrumming sound in the room that grew louder with each broken thread.

To his left, Castiel heard a thud and saw Dean fall to the floor with a clatter. He’d broken free! Knowing it could be done, Castiel pushed once more with all his might and the bonds released him just as the purple thread frayed into nothing. Dean grabbed the sword up, fighting with the blanket to free the blade while Castiel clamored to his feet. Before them, the final fire, brilliant orange flared into life and died. Both of them ran for the circle. The final thread broke open as Lucifer stepped into the circle, coming to Meg’s side. He raised his blade, screaming into the wind, “With this final sacrifice I make the world my own!”

“NO!” Dean screamed as he barreled at the circle, blade raised.

Lucifer froze as a silver blade emerged from the center of his chest. The witch’s face went curiously blank as Lucifer slid off the blade and plunged to the ground, face first.  His fall revealed Gabriel, holding a shiny silver blade, shorter than a sword, but longer than a dagger. The point was dripping in crimson blood.  Gabriel walked around the unmoving but not quite dead body of Lucifer.  “Once, you were one of my most loyal acolytes, but even then, you were a great big bag of dicks.  Nice to see some things never change.”  With that, he drove his blade into the witch once more, ending him for eternity.

“Is he dead?” Cas asked, not quite believing what he was seeing.

“How can you be sure he’s really dead?  A witch that old isn’t easy to kill,” Dean stated, clearly not believing it either.

“Hello. Deity. This is a weapon worthy of a God, it can easily dispatch a mere witch,” Gabriel quipped as he waved the blade at them both, then he casually waved his hand and released Sam and Meg from their bonds. “He was the least of our problems.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something else but was cut off as the chapel began to shake so violently that chunks of stone began to rain down from above. The wind kicked up in the church again, knocking over the wooden pews and what other fixtures that weren’t pushed out of the way.  An unearthly howl rose in the air, shaking the earth beneath their feet and making the hair on the back of their arms stand on end in terror.


	14. Chapter 14

**January 1, 1889, 12:00 – 1:00 AM**

The chapel was shaking down around their ears, which caused Meg and Sam to scramble out of the way of falling rocks. Meg’s face was pale and her eyes wide as she hurried to Gabriel’s side, sliding her body behind his. After a tense minute, the howl dwindled down and the rumbling of the earth stopped. Dean took a deep breath as he observed the damage and checked over Sam for injuries. He ignored the fact that he was naked.

Charlie burst in, her eyes cast about the room to take them all in.  When she saw Gabriel, she exclaimed, “There you are!  I was looking everywhere for you!”

“Lovely!  You missed everything!” Gabriel said.

There was a moment of pure, stunned silence as everyone looked at each other. Then the room exploded into motion and noise.

“Charlie, take Sam and Meg to the hospital.  Have Balth check them over for injuries!” Cas shouted as he wrapped the blanket that had fallen from the sword around Meg’s shoulders.  Dean grabbed the altar cloth and tossed it to Sam.

“I’m not leaving you guys here to face…whatever this is…alone!” Sam blurted as he wrapped the cloth around his waist.

“What the hell are you going to be able to do for us naked and unarmed?” Dean demanded as he pushed Sam towards Charlie.

“No, they’re right!” Gabriel said.  “If you’re here, they,” he points to the ceiling, “may decide on a different sacrifice to begin Ragnarok.  They need a man and woman.  If there are no women around…”  Gabriel didn’t have to finish that sentence.  Sam’s shoulders slumped as Charlie nodded and ushered him and Meg out.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief as Sam left and would be taken to safety. He could focus on this Ragnarok end of the world bullshit and try to set it to rights.

“Alright you two,” Gabriel began, approaching them by stepping over Lucifer’s corpse. “Now things are going to get fun. We stopped Lucifer but he’d already released Fenrir and Loki.”

“So Ragnarok is still happening?” Cas asked as he grabbed up Gabriel and gave him a shake. “How do we stop it?”

“Hands off the goods.” Gabriel pulled Castiel’s hands away and rubbed the wrinkles out of his suit. “We just have to lock them back up.”

“With a broken chain?” Dean snorted as he gestured up towards the space where the chain had been. All that remained was a glowing image of broken links that faded in and out of sight.

“That’s what the sword is for, morons.” Gabriel huffed as he waved a hand at the sword Dean still held. Before either man could ask, the god went on. “Figure it out.”

There was no warning for what happened next. The wall of the chapel exploded from the outside in, showering all three men with stone rubble and shards of stained glass. When the dust and rubble cleared, a dark haired man with glinting eyes appeared, dressed in a fur-lined green tunic that hailed back to days long gone.

His eyes landed on Gabriel and his lips spread into a cold smile. “Dionysus, I presume? Or is it Loki?”

Gabriel took a step to place himself in front of both Cas and Dean. “Go!” He hissed beneath his breath.

Dean didn’t wait for anything further; he grabbed Cas’s hand and the fled out of the rear chapel doors.

***

Once they were alone, the new comer stared down at Gabriel with a smirk.  “What makes you think you can be me?”  His smirk turned into a sneer.

Gabriel shrugged.  “Nobody cares about the old Greek myths anymore.  Loki still holds a certain fascination for people.”

The other man chuckled darkly.  “Don’t you think you fall a little _short_ of my magnificence?”

“Oh, ouch,” Gabriel deadpanned.  “At least _my_ portrayal of you isn’t trying to end the world.”

“This puny, stupid little world is barely worth ending,” Loki replied.  “And now that the stupid witch is dead, I can remake it my way.  Thank you for that.  At least you’re not a totally worthless deity.”

“Enough of this.” Gabriel rolled his eyes.  He wiped the blood off of his blade on his trousers, and then spun it impressively in his hand as he moved in for the attack.  He was going to put an end to him once and for all.  Gabriel stabbed Loki in the chest with all of his force.

Loki looked down at the now gaping hole in his chest and laughed.  “Your so called ‘god’ weapon may work on a mere witch, but I’m more powerful than him, than you.  But you did ruin my armor.”  The god actually pouted.

Gabriel looked frightened for the first time.  He clutched his blade and swallowed audibly.  He took a deep breath.  “Well, it’s been fun and all that, but I value my life, so see ya.”  Gabriel snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Loki roared, having lost his prey.  He inspected the air where Gabriel had been, and seeming to know where he disappeared to, snapped his own fingers and disappeared.

*******

Balthazar examined Meg and Sam and confirmed they were none the worse for wear, just abrasions around their wrists and ankles where Lucifer had them chained up.  He cleaned them up using the same wash basin he used for cleansing the cadavers, much to Sam’s chagrin.  Meg sat on the exam table, practically swimming in Balthazar’s spare shirt and trousers; meanwhile Sam was stuck with the snug clothes of a dead man.  The coroner explained that he had no other clothing that would come close to fitting the “Gargantuan.”  Meg both giggled and snorted at that, since that had long been her nickname for the oversized reporter.

Having done as Castiel asked and made sure the victims were examined and patched up, Charlie announced she was leaving.  “I should get back to the Abbey to help Cas and Dean.”

“Good idea, I’m coming with you,” Sam announced, tugging distractedly at the much too short sleeves of the shirt he was wearing.

Charlie let out a long suffering sigh.  “There’s not any point in trying to talk you out of this, is there?”

“Not a chance,” Sam confirmed.

The detective then looked over at Meg.  “What about you?  I suppose you want in on this too?”

The pretty brunette shook her head vehemently.  “Not even a little bit.  This is far out of my purview.”

“Meg, you should at least let us walk you home,” Sam suggested.

“Don’t worry, darlings.  I can ensure the lovely Miss Masters makes it home safely,” Balthazar offered with a grin.

Charlie and Sam nodded and went on their way.  As the door shut behind them, they heard Meg ask, “What kind of name is Balthazar anyway?  It sounds like an angel or a demon.  Which one are you?”

Sam shook his head and chuckled at what he perceived to be a flirtation on Meg’s part. Balthazar’s laughter chased them out of the hospital.  Once they left, Sam turned to Charlie. “Can we stop by my place? It’s just down the block.”

Charlie nodded and soon she meandered around the sitting room of Sam’s flat while she waited for him to change.  A loud noise drew her attention to the window just as Sam came out of his bedroom.  He looked over her shoulder and simply said “Fenrir?”

Charlie nodded, “Fenrir.”

No other words were needed as they raced out the door.

*******

While the two of them had been talking to Gabriel, the wolf had taken to carving a path of destruction. The chapel where it had originated was now little more than piles of stone and shattered glass; it was hard to tell that it had once been a chapel at all. A good chunk of the Abbey was gone too. Distantly, Castiel thought he could hear the screaming of the nuns that remained there. He supposed that if they were screaming then they were still alive. That was something, wasn’t it?

“Come on.” Dean screamed, tugging Castiel’s arm and leading him away from the chapel. It wasn’t as if it was hard to tell where the creature had gone. One merely had to follow the screams and trail of ruined buildings. Whitechapel was never completely still, even at midnight, and now there were more than enough people on the streets to make a good stirring. They had not gone even one block before the Abbey when he could hear the pounding of feet and see a crowd of people fleeing in terror beneath the flickering light of the gas lanterns.

“We have to get it away from people.” Castiel shouted back at Dean, because the din around them was enough that he couldn’t readily be heard, that and the rush of wind around them. In fact, now that they’d opened whatever celestial trap to let Fenrir and Loki out, it seemed the heavens were crying out in terror; above their heads lightning flashed through thick clouds that obscured the stars. A low roll of thunder shook the ground beneath their feet. Castiel rethought that estimation in the next second when the cobblestones began to split beneath his feet; surely that was the god-wolf that they were following.

Dean was running at a breakneck pacing, dodging both the cracks in the stones as well as chunks of stone that rained down when Fenrir took a bite out of a tavern ahead of them. As they ran past what was left of the building they could see bodies strewn about like broken dolls. Castiel ran faster, pumping his legs until he ran beside Dean instead of behind him.

“How?” Dean demanded as he turned on his heel and barreled down an alleyway. For a moment Castiel was confused, but then he saw what his lover had in mind; the alley would let them out in the street ahead of the beast.

“We need to get its attention.” Castiel was wracking his brains to figure out how; when ahead of him Dean laughed.

“I’ll use the sword. It’ll cut a god, right?” Dean pulled the thing from his back and let go of Cas’s hand so he could wrap both around the hilt.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Cas bent over to scoop up a couple of good sized rocks from the alleyway just before they ran out into the street and came to a skidding halt just as Fenrir rounded the corner, taking out two more buildings as he did so. Before they did anything else, Castiel reached out and touched Dean’s arm. It was a far cry from a declaration of love but if one of them died, he wanted to share this affection with the man. Just in case.  Dean glanced back at him and smiled; it seemed the other man understood. Good. Squaring his shoulders, Castiel prepared himself for battle.

Fenrir stood before them, eyes gleaming with an unnatural light that cast the entire street in an amber glow. Something shiny and wet dripped off of its teeth; it hissed and popped when it landed on the cobblestones. Laying its eyes upon them, the massive wolf tossed its head back and howled. The sound broke over the roar of the wind and the crash of thunder and reverberated off of the stone buildings that lined the street. Light bounced from cloud to cloud over their heads and then the skies opened and poured a mixture of snow and driving rain. Within seconds they were soaked.

“Perfect,” Dean gritted out. “Just perfect.” Then he was moving, sword held out ahead of them. Excalibur was a funny thing; it wasn’t particularly ornate and shiny. In fact, the dull grey of the blade seemed to pull the light into it. The rain and snow seemed to avoid it, creating an odd pocket of space around Dean, which kept the weather off of him. Castiel scurried to keep up, hoping that if he got close enough that he would be enveloped as well but no such luck. In fact, it seemed as if the area around Dean was impenetrable, even to him. “Stay back.” Dean grunted.

Before Castiel could react, Dean ran forward with a scream, which certainly pulled Fenrir’s yellow eyes to him. The wolf started forward, his feet leaving prints in the stone that smoked when he stepped out of them. It snapped at Dean, the chain around its neck rattling with the movement of its head. Dean ducked under the massive jaws, and swung the sword with both hands. Dull metal bit into Fenrir’s left leg, letting out a stream of blood that steamed in the cold air. The god howled with rage and backpedaled, trying to snap at whatever had hurt it. The chain swung back and forth over Dean’s head, shimmering and sparking each time it struck the cobblestones. Dean raised the sword up again, ready to strike once more just as Fenrir shook its head, jaws closing around a nearby lamp post. A jet of flame shot up from the twisted metal. Dean stepped back from the heat just as the wolf turned again; tail wiping out a building behind it. The ragged end of the broken chain fell down over Dean’s head and caught Excalibur in a tangle, the blade spearing one of the links.

“Dean!” Castiel could only see this ending badly for both of them and ran forward at full speed, his reverie ended by the mortal peril Dean was now in. Belatedly, he remembered the stones in his hands and hurled one at the beast. The first hit Fenrir right on his nose. “Hey! Assbutt!” Yellow eyes swung on Castiel. Fenrir’s lips peeled back in a snarl, revealing the creature’s long, sharp teeth. Cas swore that they were as long as he was tall. Without giving himself time to think, he hurled the next stone at the god, this one bounced off of its forehead.

Beneath Fenrir, Dean struggled with the chain, which appeared to be heavy. The more the beast moved, the harder it seemed to be. Castiel hoped that distracting it would keep it from noticing Dean’s predicament, which was preventing the hunter from striking out at the beast once more. Unfortunately, Fenrir decided that Castiel was annoying enough to eat. The creature surged forward. Cas had less than a second to turn tail and run with all his might. He turned fast and barreled down an alley way, which slowed the massive wolf down because it had to crush buildings to fit.

Glancing over his shoulder, Castiel gauged how close the creature was. That’s when he spied Dean. The motion of the wolf had set the chain to motion as well and it streamed down the beast’s right side, complete with Dean. The sword was still tangled and Dean was clutching to the magical links, white knuckled as he flapped in the wind next to Fenrir’s side, stones raining down around him. Gulping, Castiel ran on, coming out on the next street, which was empty of life. He shivered in the cold air as he glanced up and down at a loss of what to do. Panic rose in his chest as he whirled back towards the beast. Dean was now clutching Fenrir’s fur, burrowed in and holding on for dear life.

“Dean! Climb up!” Cas had no clue if Dean could hear his words over the storm however, in the next second, Dean began to move up, climbing as best as he could while keeping hold of Excalibur. Fenrir exploded onto the street, shaking its head roughly to shake off the stone debris. Dean lost his hold and flew up with the chain, but then came back down onto the wolf’s massive back. Excalibur was still tangled, the blade still in the center of one of the links. That’s when it struck Castiel. He knew what they needed to do.

Castiel pedaled back, looking to Dean. Their eyes locked together for a moment. “Sword in the Stone!” He screamed to the wind. He swore he saw Dean nod, but there was no time to be certain. Castiel turned and ran towards the river with Fenrir hot on his heels.

*******

It wasn’t difficult for Charlie and Sam to track Fenrir’s rampage through the city.  All they had to do was follow the crumbled buildings and the screams. When they finally caught up with the giant wolf, it was focused solely ahead of itself and was no longer randomly destroying things. The path of destruction was merely incidental as it chased after a figure that Charlie quickly identified as Castiel. Soon they fell behind the beast, running as fast as their legs would carry them. It became evident that Cas was leading it somewhere.  It took another second or two for Sam to realize that the white faced man clinging to Fenrir’s back was Dean. Sam looked more than mildly worried as he saw his brother clinging to it for dear life.

“He’s got some massive balls, right there.” Charlie noted, shooting a grin to Sam.

“Yeah.” Sam shot a look to her, grinning with pride. “My big brother is amazing.”

When they rounded a block, both began to get an inkling of where they were going. Once Charlie realized where they were headed, it didn’t take her long to figure out approximately what Castiel had planned.  She knew her partner pretty well at this point, and had a good idea of what he had in mind.  Gripping Sam’s wrist, she said, “Come on, Gigantor.  I think I know what Castiel is doing, and they’re going to need our help.  Don’t worry, I have a plan.”  She emphasized her words by throwing him a wink and leading him away from the chase, taking a different direction to the river docks.

*******

The sword might be keeping the rain and snow off, but it did nothing to shield him from the icy wind that gusted as Fenrir ran. Dean couldn’t feel his nose or his fingers for that matter; which made holding onto Excalibur and Fenrir’s fur a little bit dicey. Having been airborne more than once this night, Dean now knew that he didn’t care for it in the slightest, which gave him the motivation he needed to hang on for dear life and not let go. He could barely see ahead of him because of the rain, but every now and again there would be a bounce that let him catch a glimpse of Cas running ahead of them. The relief he felt from seeing his lover alive was rivaled only by the sheer terror that in any given moment Fenrir would snatch the man up and snuff out his life.

Dean had a vague idea of what Cas had meant by ‘sword in the stone’.  They would find something to plunge Excalibur into in order to trap Fenrir somehow because it was clear that it could hold the links without breaking but couldn’t break the links by itself. Where Cas had in mind was a mystery to him, at least, it had been before they emerged near the docks. Before them, the Thames flowed past, the water rough from wind and sleet. Seeing the water, Dean had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Cas meant for them to trap Fenrir in the Thames river.

He had to admit that it was a tidy plan. The water would be deep enough here to cover the beast completely, and bound to the river bed, he doubted the wolf could cause much trouble. With any luck, it would go back to sleep once it saw it was trapped. It made sense and was completely crazy.  The whole idea hinged on the ability of one of them to be able to get to the bottom of the river and remain conscious to stick the sword in the riverbed. The water was deep here and would surely be frigid to boot. Dean knew that he was freezing so Castiel must be even more so because he didn’t have any protection from the elements beyond the woolen coat he wore.

Unfortunately, there was no time to argue it. Cas ran to the edge of the water and turned once more, backing to the edge of the wooden docks. He saw the detective cock his arm back and let another stone fly. There was a wet thud when it struck and Fenrir reared back and shook its mighty head wildly. Dean guessed that Cas must have hit it somewhere that hurt, probably the wolf’s eye.  In the next breath, Fenrir surged forward just as Cas dove off the dock.

“Cas!” The wind ripped the word from his lips and Dean was sure that Cas hadn’t heard him. There was no time to process because Fenrir splashed into the water and Dean found that it was every bit as cold as he supposed it would be. His teeth chattered loudly as he and the beast sank. When the water covered his head, Dean knew that he had to act. Pushing off with his legs, Dean plunged down toward the bed of the river with the chain and the sword gripped in his hands. He knew it was likely fruitless, he’d never have the strength to pull the wolf down and that both he and Cas would die here, but Dean Winchester wasn’t a man who gave up. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the water with all of his might. The strain against his muscles created a strange heat that suffused his limbs. Perhaps the water was just that cold… he had no clue.

Focused as he was, he thought only of his mission. He didn’t notice that the chain jerked tight behind him nor that he gained headway and began to do the impossible; he pulled Fenrir down. What he did notice was the light. Excalibur glowed with a strange, pulsing light. It was faintly blue and lit the way for him. Before him, he saw the rocky bed of the river. His lungs burned for air and his head swam as spots burst before his eyes. Shaking it off, he touched down with his feet. He didn’t think of Sam or of Cas and the things he wished he could say to both men. He only thought of the sword. A strength greater than anything he had ever known ran down his arms and into his body. He raised the blade above his head and with both arms and with all his might, Dean plunged the blade into the riverbed.

A shockwave reverberated out from where the sword cut through the stone as if it were soft mud. The motion was smooth and easy as Dean pushed it in to the hilt and finally let go. He floated back, his lungs screaming as his body became desperate for oxygen. His legs and arms were heavy and his body numb. The cold was dragging him under just as quickly as the lack of air was. He watched, bemused, as Fenrir tugged frantically at the chain trying to free itself. Excalibur held tight. Dean smiled. It wasn’t such a bad way to go… saving the world.

Just as he closed his eyes, a weight settled around his chest and he was tugged roughly upwards. Arms. Someone had grabbed him and was taking him towards the surface. Without the light of the sword, Dean couldn’t tell who it was, but something told him it was Cas. Cas wouldn’t leave him to drown. With that thought, he held his breath, lips pressed tight around the urgent need to breathe. Their heads crested the surface of the water just as Dean gave in. He pulled in a huge gasp of air and heard who ever had saved him doing the same. Strong arms held him still, though he imagined it wouldn’t be long before they froze. Now that he could breathe, he could feel how hard he was shivering. He turned sluggishly, laying his eyes on his savior. It was indeed Cas.

Their eyes met above the tossing water and Dean parted his lips to say something, even if he didn’t know what that was. Even if it was just ‘Sorry I got you killed.’ He thought Cas’s lips turned up in smile and Dean decided that he understood.

Once more, strong arms wrapped around his chest and he was dragged up again, this time out of the water and into a boat. He screamed as the open air hit his skin, driving the pain of the cold deep into his bones. A moment later, he felt Cas thud into the boat next to him and then they were being covered by a thick woolen blanket. Dean looked up to see who their savior was.

“Sammy?”

“Did you think I’d let you die doing this?” His younger brother cuffed the back of his head and then pulled him into a bear hug. He turned to see that Charlie was doing the same to Cas as she wrapped another blanket around the shivering man.

Dean chuckled. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Below them, the water gave a violent toss and the ground shook. It seemed Fenrir hadn’t given up its struggle against the sword but as a minute went by with no wolf splashing to the surface, Dean guessed that Excalibur still held.

Dean huddled next to Cas and shivered as Sam and Charlie rowed them into shore. From there, Charlie dragged them down to Jo’s rooms where they were stripped naked and shoved before a fire. Jo forced hot stew (courtesy of Ellen) down their throats. As they sat, they could feel the ground jump and quake as Fenrir struggled in the river. Those tremors became fewer and farther in between as the night wore on. The last one was felt around 7 am, just before the sun rose.

On the street below, there was the hum of voices as people stirred to examine the damage and to begin clean up. Dean wondered what lies the people would come up with to explain the damage then realized that he didn’t care. His job was over now; the apocalypse was averted and the world turned on. Soon, this night and all that happened in it would be forgotten. Exhausted, Dean laid his head on Castiel’s chest and listened to his heartbeat as outside, the New Year dawned and life went on.


	15. Chapter 15

**January 2, 1889, 8:00 PM**

Sam walked into the empty newspaper building, Dean and Cas on his heels.  He hoped they would find Gabriel here, sitting in his office, feet propped on his desk, with his fine French wine in one hand and jelly beans in the other.  Deep down, Sam knew that they wouldn’t.

The building had that kind of quiet that only exists when a place is well and truly devoid of human life.  In that kind of quiet, even the soft breathing of the three men was thunderous, never mind their footfalls.  Sam made a gesture for the others to stay behind as he made his way to Gabriel’s office.  The door was unlocked and the knob moved easily under Sam’s grip.  The desk was laid out a bit like a formal dining affair.  The decanter of fine French wine was in the center, with two expensive crystal goblets set at either side.  The bowl of jelly beans was just askew from the wine.  Propped up against the decanter was an envelope with Sam’s name scrawled across the front in Gabriel’s neat, calligraphy handwriting. 

Sam sucked in a deep breath as he opened the letter.  He’d had too many letters with bad things in them.  Despite the fact that he knew this was from Gabriel, he feared the contents.  Seeming to sense his brother’s dismay, Dean silently made his way into the office and gently plucked the envelope from his hand.

_Sam,_

_I fear I may not survive this confrontation with forces beyond most people’s understanding.  If I don’t, that is fine.  I have lived many life times, so perhaps it is finally my time.  All I can hope is that you and the others put a stop to the evil trying to make its way into this world.  Assuming that you were successful, and I have no reason to doubt that you were, with the extraordinary talents of your companions, I wish for you to take possession of the Central News Agency.  I can’t think of anyone better to continue to bring London the important stories.  I only ask that you keep Meg on.  Despite her perhaps misguided loyalties, she is invaluable to running this paper.  She probably knows the ins and outs of the day to day business here better than I do.  Also, she deserves forgiveness._

_Enclosed, you’ll find everything you need to make the paper legally yours.  I do hope we will meet again._

_~Gabriel Arch (aka Dionysis, aka Loki…and sorry for the deception)_

Sure enough, the envelope also held the deed to the paper, as well as a document proclaiming Sam Winchester new owner and editor-in-chief.  “Baldur and Kali are going to be pissed that he picked me over them,” was the only thing Sam could think of say in light of what had transpired.

“Congratulations, man,” Dean said.  “Looks like you’re moving up in the world.  You can have that boring, normal life you always wanted.”

Sam looked down at his brother, tears glistening in his hazel eyes.  “Yeah.  Boring, normal life where no one gets hurt because I don’t hunt the weird and demonic shit anymore?  Screw that.”  Sam dropped the envelope unceremoniously onto the desk and strode out of the office and out of the building without looking back.

Dean scrambled to catch up.  “Sam!  Sam!  Wait!  What are you talking about?”  He gripped his brother’s shoulder and spun him around.

“You…you and Cas are going to look for Gabe, right?  Gabe, and who I guess is the _real_ Loki?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Dean answered, not sure where his brother was going with this train of thought.

“I want to go with you.  Saving people, hunting things, the family business, right?  The family business I got out of to have a nice, normal, boring life, right?  I left the business and the woman I love _still_ got killed.  I didn’t save anybody.  So, I want to go with you.”  The determination in Sam’s eyes left no room for argument.

“Ok, yeah, sure Sammy.  I’d love to have you back in it with me.  But…what are you going to do about this?”  He gestured at the building that housed the paper.

A very slight smile graced Sam’s lips.  “Let Meg run it.  Gabe said so himself, she knows the day to day ins and outs better than everyone.  I’ll take care of everything tomorrow, and then we can get out of London.”

“A woman?  Running the Central News Agency?  How scandalous of you, Sam.”

“Like Meg gives a damn about scandal.”

Dean laughed.  “You’re probably right.”

**January 3, 1889, 8:00 AM**

In the offices of Scotland Yard, Charlie paced furiously outside of Commissioner Turner’s office, waiting to be called in.  Sure there was another ass chewing coming her way, because despite the fact that they _stopped_ the killer, they couldn’t exactly _arrest_ him.  Leave it to Castiel to turn in his resignation before Turner could get on their case.

Her annoyed pacing and inner ramblings were interrupted when Garth Fitzgerald joined her in the hall.  He was an excellent bobby, in her opinion, but she wasn’t sure what reason he could have to be here at the moment.

“Fitzgerald?  Do you need me for something?” the detective asked, trying to keep the irritation from her voice while maintaining the deeper one she used at work.

“Oh, no detective, the commissioner asked to see me this morning,” he answered jovially.

“Bradbury, Fitzgerald, get in here!”  Rufus Turner’s loud voice carried through the closed door.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Charlie exhaled as she turned the knob and entered the office.

They walked in to find not only Commission Turner waiting for them, but Assistant Commissioner Singer as well.  This did not bode well for the detective and the bobby.  Charlie tried to keep her expression carefully neutral as she saluted her superiors.  Garth smiled widely as he saluted.

“Sit down, idjits,” Singer groused at them, crossing his arms over his chest.

Turner scowled up at him from his position seated behind the desk.  “Do _you_ want to conduct this meeting?”

“No, Sir,” Bobby answered, trying and failing to conceal the smile behind his scowl.

“Good.” Rufus said before turning back to the two in front of him.  “Now, as you may or may not know already, Castiel Novak is no longer a detective with Scotland Yard.  Said he was going off to ‘hunt things’ or whatever with that Winchester fellow.  So, that leaves a lead detective position vacant.”  He looked directly at Charlie when he continued.  “Bradbury, I’d like to promote you to lead detective.”  He then turned to Garth.  “That leaves an opening for an assistant detective.  Fitzgerald, I think you would make a good fit as Bradbury’s assistant.  What do you morons have to say?”

“I have to share an office with _him_?” Charlie asked in disbelief. Fitzgerald was earnest in such a squeaky way that she feared what would happen when he figured out that she wasn’t a man. Of course, the man was also loyal too; perhaps she could make this work.

It was Bobby’s turn to speak.  “Look, I know Fitzgerald is a little wet behind the ears, but he’s really good with people and knows his way around a crime scene.  I have no doubt you can mold him into an excellent detective.  Just don’t get each other killed.”

“I accept!” Garth exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. The man’s wiry figure seemed to be vibrating in place with excitement.

Charlie rolled her eyes, but said fondly, “I accept as well.” It would be a world away from what it had been like to work at Castiel’s side, but she understood that her partner had simply lost too much to go back to his life the way it had been. She hoped that he’d also gained enough to find joy in life once more. Reaching out to grab Fitzgerald’s arm before he started hugging the Commissioners, she tugged the young man out. “Come on, there’s no time like the present to get you moved into the office.”

“Aye, Aye, Partner!” The young man snapped off a sharp salute over a bright grin.

Charlie knew she could work with this. Sometimes different could also be good.

**January 5, 1889, 6:00 AM**

There was a small gathering outside of The Bobby’s Rest, each of them huddled into their coats while puffs of white rose from their lips with each exhale. The sky was still dark, edged grey on the horizon as the new day began to dawn. It would be an hour or more before the city truly woke up around them. Castiel curled his gloved hand into the pocket of his great coat, feeling the cool press of metal through the fabric covering his fingers. The key felt strange in his grasp. A glance to his left showed Dean in the arms of Ellen, being rocked side to side as they said their goodbyes. Ben clung to the man’s leg as if lost. The poor child likely was still lost after the death of his mother. Castiel consoled himself knowing that Ellen and Bobby would take excellent care of the boy.

A rock bounced off of his shoe. Glancing up, his eyes landed on Charlie standing before him with Jo just a step behind. The blonde nodded once to him in greeting before stepping back to give them a small space of privacy.

“So….” Charlie looked up at him, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears underneath her bowler.

“So.” He replied, understanding that there were times when someone was so dear that there were simply not words to express it. Charlie had been a friend to him for more years than he cared to count. She’d been a rock when he’d needed one and he liked to think that somewhere along the way, he’d done the same for her. “I heard about your promotion. Congratulations, Detective.”

“Thanks.” She laughed and punched his arm. “You could still come back anytime. I’d step back down.”

Castiel shook his head. “I … I just need time. After Anna…” He stopped, feeling his throat close over and stop his words. He shook it off, taking a breath to go on. “I can see why Dean does what he does. It’s important. I want to help him.”

Charlie’s eyes softened as she smiled. “You love him.”

“I do.” It was so easy to confirm. Somehow in all the horror they’d survived, he’d found one spot of sun, that was Dean. He intended to hold onto that light for as long as he could. “I’ve a feeling you’ve found something similar.” His eyes flicked to Jo and back to Charlie.

The redhead blushed. “Maybe.”

“Good.” Reaching out, Castiel pulled the petite woman into his arms. She squeezed him so tightly that his breath puffed out over her head. _God, I’m going to miss her._ He pressed a kiss to the top of the bowler, closing his eyes for a moment to drink in the warmth of his very best friend.

When Charlie finally let him go, she pulled back, wiping tears from her cheeks. “You’d better write to me or I’ll come hunt you down.”

“I promise, I’ll write every chance that I get.”

“See that you do, boy.” Bobby’s gruff voice startled them both as he shoved a leather case into Castiel’s arms. “From me and Ellen. Figured we’d give it to you because Dean is lousy when it comes to communication.”

Castiel snapped the case open to find stationary, ink, pens, and envelopes, all neatly organized and waiting to be used for correspondence. “Thank you.”

“Stay in touch, you here?” Ellen pulled him in for a warm hug. When she let him go, she wrapped a home knit scarf of blue wool around his neck. He noted that Sam and Dean each had one as well. “Come back and see us from time to time. You are family.”

Overwhelmed by the sentiment, he could only nod as Dean came to stand by his side.

“We’ll be back, Ellen.” Dean slung his arm casually around Castiel’s neck, leaning into his shoulder for a moment while giving the woman a cheeky grin. “You know how Sammy will belly ache about pub food and being cold.”

“Hey!” Sam’s indignant reply floated to them from where he was down the street, leading three horses to where they stood.

Ellen laughed and patted both of their cheeks, then left to hug Sam once more. The moment the tall man was near enough, another round of hugs was started until Castiel had received a hug from everyone (even Bobby, which had been a little awkward). Then Dean mounted up, followed by Sam. Castiel took his own reigns but before he mounted up, he squeezed Charlie’s hand once more.

“It’s not goodbye. I’ll see you later.” Charlie said brightly.

Castiel swung up into the saddle. “Then I’ll see you later.”

Dean turned his mount and led the way, with Castiel behind him and Sam bringing up the rear. The sound of hooves on cobblestones echoed dully in the cold morning air as the morning began to grow brighter. Castiel knew that by the time it was full light, London would be behind them. With each step, he felt weight slide from his shoulders as if he were shedding a skin that had grown too tight. They’d lost so much here and while it hurt to leave those they loved behind, Cas knew it was what they needed to do. The Ripper had pulled a piece out of each of them and staying here wouldn’t bring that back. They’d need time and space to heal and with any luck, someday they could return strong and whole. Perhaps somewhere along the way, they’d find Gabriel and get some answers while they were at it.

When the city proper was behind them, Castiel drew rein and looked back. “This is the farthest I’ve ever been from London.”

Dean stopped and turned to face him. “Are you serious?”

“You’ve never been out of London?” Sam asked, his voice incredulous.

“No.” Castiel shook his head, squinting at the morning fog that clung to the city, obstructing it from view. “We never had the money or a reason to leave.”

A clap on his shoulder startled him and he turned to find himself staring into Dean’s green eyes. His lover was smiling. “Well, Cas, I guess Sam and I will have to show you around.”

Castiel found himself returning Dean’s smile. “Please do.”

Clucking to his horse, Sam started them off again, shaking his head as he rode by. Dean and Cas fell in behind him, side by side, face to the coming day.


End file.
